Up From the Dust
by K. Cloak
Summary: [COMPLETE] HBP AU. Who's the new Death Eater taking up Voldemort’s attention? Why does Harry keep ending up in disturbing situations? And why does Snape keep landing in the middle of them? [11 of 11: All things that rise must fall...]
1. Ch 1: A Dark Mark in the Great Hall

**Summary:** Shortly before Halloween during Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts, things start getting strange. Who is the strange new Death Eater occupying Voldemort's attention? Why does Harry keep finding himself in disturbing situations? And why does Severus Snape keep landing in the middle of them?

**Spoiler Warning:** I know there is Order of the Phoenix and Goblet of Fire stuff in here… and probably spoilers from the other books as well. You've been warned.

**Notes:**

1) This story is NOT a work-in-progress; it is a completed novella which is being posted a chapter at a time for proofreading (and – I'll admit it – so that it can get some attention before being swept off of the front pages of and never seen again). There will be eleven chapters, so read without fear: I will not dump this story.

2) Although this story focuses a great deal on Harry and Severus, it is not slash – not that there's anything wrong with that. Slash fans – sorry to disappoint you. Slash-phobes – it's all clear, read on.

3) This story originally appeared before Order of the Phoenix came out and was trashed by the new info from the book. It has since been changed. Reviews for the first 6 chapters that don't seem to fit the story are from the older, much shorter version.

4) There is a pretty, female original character in this story – she is not a Mary Sue. If she appears so at the very beginning, keep in mind that I don't particularly like Mary Sues. Prettiness isn't everything: you'll see what happens. If you don't get it, go see Shrek.

5) This fic is rated a strong PG-13 for violence/torture, language (one f-bomb and three uses of the s-word), and some non-explicit sexuality. If you want to read the original, which has three (gasp!) more uses of f---, I'll be putting it on my web page when I get my page back up.

6) Please read and review. Comments are appreciated; if you find inconsistencies, I will be happy to fix them. Be kind – this is my first fic of this length. It took a long time to write.

Thanks for reading these long notes! Onward to Up from the Dust!

**Up From the Dust**

**By K. Cloak**

**Chapter 1: A Dark Mark in the Great Hall**

The fourth of October, 1997, brought many things to Hogwarts: the first frost, the first Hogsmeade weekend for the newly-promoted third years, and the first school-wide conversation about the first Quidditch match of the season, which was to be played later that day.

Seated at one end of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were attempting to cheer up their best friend. Over the last two years, Ron Weasley had developed a reputation for performing terribly in his first Quidditch match of the season. He was dreading the match.

"Honestly, Ron, if you don't eat breakfast you are going to fall off your broom. _That_ can't help your game," said Hermione matter-of-factly, looking up from the dusty tome on her lap. Having finished her own breakfast ten minutes ago, she had decided on a bit of "light reading" to pass the time before the match.

Ron Weasley sat in front of a full plate of food, silverware still occupying the exact same spot it had taken up a half hour ago. The freckles stood out sharply on his paler-than-usual face.

"Oh, stop bothering him, Hermione. After all, I don't usually want to eat anything before my first match of the season." The second speaker was Ron's other best friend and Quidditch veteran, Harry Potter. Clad in the same red-and-gold robes as Ron, Harry reached across the table and clapped a friendly hand on Ron's shoulder. Harry was absurdly proud of Ron for his performance on the Gryffindor team over the past two years; he didn't want Ron to lose confidence.

"Yes, well, you don't need any energy to sit on your broom for half an hour waiting for the Snitch to show up," retorted Hermione. "I think he could use a few calories before he goes diving after flying Quaffles for Merlin knows how long." Struck by the odd sound of the Muggle word Hermione had used, Ron looked up.

"What in the world is a calorie?" asked Ron, breaking his silence. Hermione turned to him.

"Well, Ron, in Muggle chemistry, a calorie or really a kilocalorie is the amount of energy -"

"She just means you need some food, Ron," interrupted Harry, saving them from a fifteen-minute lecture from their brainy friend.

Reluctantly, Ron turned his attention to his breakfast. Next to Harry, Hermione turned her attention back to her reading. Having one friend's mouth too full and the other friend's brain too full for either to talk to him, Harry stared idly around the Great Hall. At the ends of the four House tables sat a few of the first years, who didn't know many of the older students yet and were content to congregate amongst themselves. There were fewer Slytherins this year – their number had seemingly been on a decline since fifth year. Harry had counted them at the Sorting Ceremony: nine Gryffindors, seven Ravenclaws, eight Hufflepuffs, and five Slytherins. He thought with some unease that perhaps some of the usual Slytherin stock had transferred to Durmstrang or even one of the more "liberal" American schools, where the Dark Arts were more openly taught.

Harry shuddered at the thought of such young children being taught the likes of Cruciatus and Imperius, never mind the killing curse. Harry had spent the entire summer at the Dursleys', completely cut off from the wizarding world and explicitly forbidden to leave the protection of his horrible relatives. He'd returned to find that, although the Death Eaters' attacks had become more subtle, they continued to be very deadly. There was a war going on, and people were dying. To think that they were dying at the hands of young men and women no older than himself…

With effort, Harry steered his thoughts away from such dark matters. He is eyes roamed the Great Hall. It was still early and both the faculty table and House tables were quite empty. In fact, only two professors were present: Professors Vector and Snape. Vector was busy studying a book that looked disturbingly similar to the one in front of Hermione; Snape, on the other hand, was staring into his cup of coffee as if it held the answer to all of life's secrets.

_That coffee's probably black and bitter, just like the old bastard himself_, thought Harry.

- - - -

Perhaps it was because he had nothing better to do than look about idly that Harry saw the strange woman enter the Great Hall. She was led in by a sour-looking Filch, who wagged his finger at her as she headed away from the students' entrance, saying something to Filch that Harry couldn't hear. She looked to be in her mid-twenties and was rather pretty, with long, thick red hair and eyes that were obviously bright green even from a distance. She was dressed in plain black robes and strode, seemingly unnoticed, between the House tables.

She stopped directly in front of Harry.

"Are you Harry Potter?" she asked, taking the empty seat on his left.

"Umm… yes, that would be me," replied Harry, a taken aback not only by the woman's sudden entrance but also by her appearance. She could have been his mother's sister.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed. At her cheerful comment, Harry mentally downgraded his estimate of her age to around eighteen. "My name's Julia Gardner… Lily Evans was my second cousin… once removed, I think. You wouldn't believe the time it took to get permission to come here and see you." Her voice was sweet and matched her smile: Harry found himself instantly liking her. Next to him, his friends were both watching the exchange, but knew better than to interrupt.

"You knew my mother?" Harry asked, incredulous.

"Well, no… I've only heard of her. I'm from America, and I've only met a few of my British relatives."

"So you're my… second cousin?" asked Harry.

"Third," muttered Hermione.

"My third cousin?" corrected Harry.

"Yeah! I've only been in England for about a week. Your janitor seemed reluctant to let me in without sending me to the Headmaster, but I just had to find you first! I've been looking for you for ages!"

"Does Professor Dumbledore know you're here?" asked Harry.

"Of course," Julia said, laughing a bit. "I talked to him over Floo before coming. He's really cool. I wish the principal of my school had been like him."

Hermione got up and walked to the other side of the table as Julia continued to introduce herself. Julia had never known that she was related to Harry Potter because she was Muggle-born as well. Apparently her family had approved of her magical talents about as much as Aunt Petunia had approved of her sister's, because her magical relatives had never been mentioned to her. She had been doing some research on her family tree when she had discovered the Dursleys in Britain; in fact, she had actually uncovered her connection to Harry during a terse telephone conversation with none other than Vernon Dursley himself.

Harry couldn't believe it. Here, standing in front of him, was a real, live, flesh-and-blood relative of his mother! Talking to him! Admittedly, her American accent was a bit annoying, and she seemed to know nothing personal about Harry's mother, but it was still wonderful to meet a relative who didn't loathe him.

Embarrassed, Harry realized Julia was talking again, and that he'd missed the beginning of her sentence.

"-and I thought maybe we could go for a quick walk around the school, you could show me around awesome old castle, we could… y'know… catch up?" She trailed off, eyebrows raised.

"Sure!" said Harry, who was immediately fixed with identical stern looks from his two still-silent friends.

"Umm… that is, if we could head over to the Quidditch pitch a half hour before the game. Julia, this is Hermione and Ron, my two best friends. Today's the first Quidditch match of the season, and Ron and me are playing."

"Nice to meet you," mumbled Hermione and Ron, a bit nonplussed by Harry's quick change of plans.

"Well then, would you like to give me a quick tour?" Julia reached with her left hand to grab a muffin, accidentally knocking Ron's glass of pumpkin juice onto the table. A loud, distinct "Aw crap!" came from Ron as he sprang out of the way.

At that moment, Harry felt his body turn to stone. Julia was bright red and apologizing; Hermione was levitating the juice back into the goblet it had so suddenly vacated. Harry, on the other hand, couldn't move at all.

"I'll be back long before the match, guys," he heard himself say. He didn't understand… his face was smiling and he was talking, and now he was walking casually toward the doors, but he had no control at all over his actions.

_Oh crap, _thought Harry, mirroring Ron's comment of a moment before. He quickly beginning to panic, realizing that he had just been hit with some kind of Imperius-like curse. Apparently it wasn't the Imperius curse, however, because he couldn't fight it at all. He concentrated with all his might to take control of his body, and failed. No voice echoed in his head, yet he was obviously obeying something. Hopelessly, he watched as his body continued to walk and his lips formed questions which he wasn't thinking.

He was trapped. And the doors to the Great Hall were getting closer. _Of all the ways to be dragged out of Hogwarts…_ And where was Julia taking him?

"Stupefy."

The voice was as cold and unforgiving as the man to whom it belonged: Even as his back was turned he recognized the voice of his nemesis, Professor Severus Snape.

Beside Harry, Julia stumbled, but did not fall. Nonetheless, her concentration was momentarily broken, and Harry fell to the floor. He felt like a puppet with tangled strings. He also felt the brief sensation of cold as Julia's Charming Charm broke. _Idiot,_ thought Harry immediately. _The oldest trick in the book to get a date, and I didn't even notice._

Above Harry, Julia was changing. Her long red hair shortened and paled to yellow, her lips became a bit fuller, and her complexion darkened ever so slightly. A woman in her thirties appeared in Julia's place as the glamours that she had been using dissipated. The sum of minute changes was dramatic; she looked like a completely different person. A look of surprised recognition blossomed into life on Snape's face, while a look of pure hatred and rage transformed the previously friendly and compelling Julia into the embodiment of pure, undiluted evil.

"You!" she hissed. Professor Snape was standing ten feet from Harry and Julia, his wand pointed at the now blonde woman. A murmur of voices arose around them.

"Expelliarmus!" roared Snape. Julia dropped her wand, but was not thrown from her feet. Disarmed, she stood still as Snape approached her. As Snape stepped up to within a few feet of her, the woman did something that Harry rarely saw in the wizarding world: she physically attacked him. Not expecting a non-magical attack, Snape was taken by surprise as the much-shorter Julia grabbed him by the collar and bashed her forehead into his large nose. Snape's hands flew to his face; Julia grabbed Snape's right wrist and wrenched it with both hands. Snape dropped his wand in pain and lashed out with his left hand, but Julia sidestepped him and dove for her wand.

She quickly stunned Professor Vector, who had been sneaking up from the side of the room, and cast a body-bind on Hermione mid-curse. She gestured again with her wand and shouted "Corpora Imperiata!" The Hall fell as silent as a tomb as she repeated the curse that undoubtedly had already been cast on Harry when Ron's pumpkin juice had spilled. Now nobody, including Professor Snape, could move. Harry felt as if his invisible puppet strings had been pulled taut once more.

Snape stood stick-straight in between the two center tables, Harry near him on the floor. Julia stepped up to Snape and pointed her wand at the center of his forehead. Harry, from his vantage point on the floor, was perhaps the only person in the room to see the brief look of fear cross Snape's face.

"You little piece of shit!" she said. Her icy tone was strangely similar to Snape's own. "You were supposed to look the _other way_, you goddamned _scumbag. _You are going to pay for this, _Severus,_" She spat his name out like it was something foul. "You damned _traitor_!" A few sparks flew from her wand and into Snape's face.

"Just doing my job, Juliette," he said quietly, eyes surreptitiously scanning the floor for his wand. "Anyway… you're supposed to be… six feet under. I didn't know I had to keep an eye out for… dead assholes… at work." Juliette had spread her curse too thinly in casting it against a roomful of people. Still, fighting the curse enough to speak was almost too much for him. If only he could just manage to concentrate enough just a little wandless summoning charm…

Following his gaze, Julia realized his plan. Stepping forward, she slapped him twice in succession, first backhand and then with her palm, raising scarlet patches on his pale face and obliterating his fragile concentration. Juliette stepped closer to Professor Snape, speaking quietly enough that only Harry could hear her next words.

"I loathe you… you meddling, backstabbing, traitorous bastard. You really are worthless, Severus. The Dark Lord had his doubts about you, but said you wouldn't be an obstacle… I should never have thought that you would let me walk out of here."

Running footsteps could be heard from beyond the doors of the Great Hall. Their sound seemed to break the woman from her hateful musings; it also broke her icy composure.

"Oh, _shit_!" she yelled. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The unnaturally still students were forced to watch as Snape rose a foot into the air at her command. Once again, for a brief moment, fear registered on his face, and then it was replaced by a kind of resignation.

The doors burst open, and in strode Professors McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick, as well as the Headmaster. Juliette looked furious, but not quite fearful.

She gestured angrily with her wand just as the newly arrived faculty raised theirs, and Snape's body was thrown backwards at incredible speed. There was a sickening, audible crack as his head hit the stone wall at the far end of the hall, behind the staff table, and he fell to the ground in a motionless heap. As she had predicted, all four of the teachers turned their heads in astonishment. At that moment, Juliette reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out a tiny object wrapped in cloth. She cried "Morsmordre!", then placed the plain gold ring on her finger. Shimmering slightly and moving unnaturally fast, Juliette dashed for the nearest wall, passing through it with the ease of a ghost.

The square of white cloth drifted to the ground as the Dark Mark took form under the enchanted ceiling, and the Hall erupted in chaos. The two dozen students who had been frozen were now free, and were all talking loudly. Harry rushed over to Ron and a still-frozen Hermione, while many other students circled around Professor Snape. One of the Slytherin first-years was crying openly after seeing what had just happened to her Head of House.

Blood was pooling around Severus Snape's still form as Dumbledore and McGonagall rushed over to him, parting the small circle of onlookers. Dumbledore muttered a spell to stop the bleeding and transfigured a chair into a stretcher; they were soon gone from the Hall.

The other teachers attempted to regain a sense of order as new students began trickling into the Great Hall. Some of these had seen Dumbledore and Snape in the corridors and looked terrified as they walked in; the rest became terrified as they glimpsed the Dark Mark floating near the ceiling.

Standing at only a little over five feet tall, Professor McGonagall was finding it difficult to make herself heard amidst the growing crowd of buzzing students, none of whom seemed inclined to sit down. Stepping up onto the platform that housed the faculty table, McGonagall cast a Sonorus charm on herself and roared "I will have order!" Her voice rebounded through the room, somewhat stilling the commotion. McGonagall took advantage of the sudden quiet to order the students back to their seats; she then used a variant charm to cast her voice throughout the castle, calling the rest of the students and staff into the Great Hall.

Even after the resident Master of Charms, Professor Flitwick, had cleared out the evil symbol floating on the ceiling, nobody seemed to be able to eat breakfast.

"It appears at this time that we have been attacked by an unknown Dark witch," announced Professor McGonagall to the assembled students. "Professor Snape has been injured and has been sent to the Hospital Wing… and several of you have been afflicted with a variation of the Imperius Curse." A murmur went through the assembled students.

"All of the protective wards around Hogwarts are still in effect, so please do not panic. Until this is all straightened out, however, no one is to leave the castle without being accompanied by a member of the faculty. Today's Quidditch match will be postponed, and, of course, no one shall be allowed to visit Hogsmeade this weekend. Please finish your breakfast and then please return to your common rooms or the library." She sat down and poured herself a cup of tea, her ramrod pose brooking no argument.

- - - -

The woman once known as Juliette MacBride dropped to her knees as the Portkey transported her to its set location: a large Muggle house, recently commandeered for more sinister purposes. "My lord," she practically whispered. "I have failed you in my first mission after returning to you from my long absence. Your punishment is deserved… and expected."

Above her stood the most feared man in the entirety of the wizarding world, Lord Voldemort. Even when they were on their feet, Voldemort ordinarily towered over most of his Death Eaters; he seemed a giant from his servant's perspective on the ground. At the woman's plaintive request for punishment, his thin mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

"Before I punish you, my dear Juliette, tell me what fallacy on your behalf led to this failure."

"My Lord, we - I was overconfident. I trusted that Severus would let me pass without incident. Your suspicions were correct – my husband is a traitor."

Juliette MacBride was indeed the lawfully wedded wife of Hogwarts's youngest professor, and had been chosen to infiltrate Hogwarts because of this family tie. Being a close relative of a faculty member, Juliette was immune to most of the wards protecting Hogwarts. All she had done was take advantage of a particularly dangerous loophole: one that had never been drawn tight.

In addition to his job as interrogator and potions brewer for the Death Eaters, Snape normally allowed Death Eater parents to get through the wards on Hogwarts unhindered and undetected. However, Voldemort had never completely regained his trust in Snape; he had sent Juliette to sneak into the school on the chance that Snape was a traitor.

Apparently, he was. A truly loyal Death Eater would have given up his position as a spy, his freedom, even his life, if it meant allowing Voldemort to have the Potter boy.

"He should have just let me pass, but when he saw me with the Potter boy he tried to hex me. He always was a suspicious bastard – he probably sensed the curse I cast. He was always inconveniently attuned to the magic of others.

"I didn't think when I saw him – I was so angry that I attacked him instead of just leaving. I wasted time. Others arrived, and I had to use this-" she held up the gold ring – "to escape. I lost the boy. I've failed you," she repeated. She was trembling, but not from fear. She practically dripped with self-loathing and anger.

"I should have killed him, my Lord. Killed him and left. That traitorous piece of scum who dares to call me wife." She looked down at the gold ring, still in her hand, and sneered. Voldemort had turned her wedding ring into a Ghost Ring, a particularly useful tool of Dark magic. It would not work again, however, until he took the considerable time and effort necessary to charm it.

Voldemort's face showed a mixture of anger and sadistic interest at Juliette's news. "So, he is a spy after all… I had my doubts, but after the… events… of two years ago, I had hoped that dear Severus truly had returned to the fold. After all, he was so good at brewing poisons. He will be killed, of course. " A sadistic smile twisted his thin lips as he repeated the words that he had not carried out two years before. "What acts did you commit in my name, girl? Or did you simply flee from the castle without leaving any message at all?"

"My Lord, I held the students under _corpus imperius_ while I dealt with Severus. I'll admit… I was very sloppy, my Lord… I merely broke his skull. I'm sure he will live for you to punish, although I don't know if you would prefer to keep him alive at this point. I also left the Dark Mark on their enchanted ceiling."

Voldemort seemed pleased with this information.

"Rise, Juliette. Although you have failed in bringing Potter here quietly, you have done well in unmasking Snape. You need only be punished a little for your oversight. Crucio."

Juliette remained standing through the duration of the curse. Although it was hideously painful, Juliette's new body was stronger than her last one, and when Voldemort released her from the spell, she merely knelt down at his feet, kissed the hem of his robes, and muttered "you are merciful, Sire," before rising to her feet again.

Voldemort regarded his protégé with pride: this woman was of the blackest heart and the purest evil. He grabbed her roughly by her golden hair and kissed her, his long-fingered hands holding her tightly, his mouth trailing down to her neck. She put her arms around him and held him as his hands explored her body.

They stopped suddenly, and Voldemort's face lit with a hideous smile as he held her face in his hands. "I have not experienced the touch of a woman since I became what I am today," he said. "Soon, my loyal one, soon we will come together, and you will conceive my heir. I will truly become King of Darkness, and you will be my Queen."


	2. Ch2: The Potions Master & the Mediwitch

**Updates:** I caved in, deleted three uses of the f-word, and made this story a PG-13. Now more people can read it.

Up From the Dust

By K. Cloak

Chapter 2: The Potions Master and the Mediwitch

"Merlin's balls!" cried Poppy Pomfrey as she took in the sight in front of her. Albus Dumbledore, looking not at all like his usual cheery self, had just stormed into the hospital wing, levitating a bloody Severus Snape after him. The unconscious man's long black hair was matted with blood, and his face was chalk white.

"Don't just stand there! Do something!" shouted Albus. Poppy was more than a little surprised at his frantic attitude, but she simply nodded quickly and set out to do what she could for Snape.

She waved her wand over Snape's still form. As she did so, an aura appeared around him. For the majority of his body, the light was a faint blue, but around his head it became a halo of angry, pulsating red, flecked with black and orange. As she examined the results of her scan, Dumbledore gave a quick account of what he had just seen.

"He has a concussion and a broken skull, as well as moderate blood loss… although I presume from the lack of a surface wound that you've already seen to that part. I can heal the break, but…"

"You'll have to wait until he reawakens to see if he has brain damage," finished Dumbledore monotonously.

"Yes. I'm sorry Albus, but there really isn't much more I can do. No matter how advanced our magic is, we still know little more about the human brain than Muggles do. In fact, we may actually know less, considering the amount of time we devote to science." Poppy pointed her wand at Severus's head and murmured a bone-healing charm. Now that he was out of immediate danger, Madam Pomfrey carefully levitated him onto a bed and covered him to the chin with a blanket. The charm would take several hours to take effect on the deeper tissues, but it effectively held healing bones together, allowing Pomfrey to place Severus on his back.

Poppy turned to the Headmaster. "Albus," she said quietly. "Why do you look so stricken? Surely he will be all right, even if he was attacked by a Death Eater."

"She shouldn't have gotten in, Poppy. You know that the protective magic on Hogwarts should have detected her as soon as she set foot on the grounds. I have a very bad feeling about this, Poppy. I'm going to go consult my Pensieve… perhaps I will find the answer in my memories."

Poppy watched as Albus left, certainly looking his age. It wasn't every day that someone so obviously evil got through Hogwarts' defenses. Only students and staff, as well as the immediate family of the staff, could easily get through the wards of Hogwarts. Others had to be granted special permission. As for those with a Dark Mark, the wards on Hogwarts had been recently strengthened to violently repel any Death Eater who attempted to enter. Poppy knew, as few others did, just how many spells had had to be used on Severus Snape afterwards in order to keep him in the castle without having him strangled, sickened, immobilized, or simply levitated out.

_Well, enough brooding,_ thought Poppy as she turned back to Severus. Although she knew that Albus had likely seen Severus in much worse shape than he was right now, she hadn't really felt right about doing what she was about to with Albus around. Now that he was gone… it was time to see to her colleague.

Moving up to the unconscious Potions Master, she carefully levitated his body several inches from the bed he was lying in and removed the blanket.

He really was a mess from what couldn't have been too long of a fight. Although he was physically intact, he looked like the life had been sucked out of him. After drawing a curtain closed around them, she gently removed Severus' outer robes, which were wrinkled and bloody. Next, she took off his red-stained undershirt and the plain trousers he wore underneath.

Poppy gasped as she took in his barely-clothed body. It was true that Severus had always been a thin man; she had seen him injured enough times in the last two and a half years to know that. She shuddered at the memory of his return shortly after the Triwizard Tournament: he had been brought nearly to the brink of death. But all through that night, as he had gasped and struggled to breathe and tried in vain to still the shaking that came after a long dose of the Cruciatus… all night he had muttered words of triumph under his breath.

Now, he simply looked wrung out. He was too thin; his ribs and the hollow in the center of his chest were all too visible.

With a washcloth, Poppy carefully mopped the rusty stains from his upper body, neck and face. She then did her best to blot the blood out of his hair: the washcloth, which had been charmed to remain both clean and damp, was very helpful in that task. With a faint smile, Poppy considered getting a house-elf to give his hair a good wash, but decided that Severus would take it as an insult. Satisfied with her work and allowing her colleagues greasy hair to remain the way it was, she lowered him back to the bed and covered him again. One of the house-elves would get his clothing in a while.

- - - -

Slightly more than an hour later, Severus Snape woke to the feeling of a House Elf beating a cadence on the back of his skull. At least, that's what it felt like.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, lifting a hand to the back of his head.

"Severus! You're awake! Albus will be thrilled!" Opening his eyes, Severus took in the sight of Madam Pomfrey rushing towards him, a ridiculous smile on her face.

"Is she gone?" he whispered. Searching her face, he silently dared Poppy to lie about anything.

"The woman who attacked the school?"

"No, Poppy, the ghost of my great-grandmother, who just decided to come visit."

Poppy ignored Severus's comment and answered his question. "The woman who attacked the school is gone, Severus. She fled the castle with some sort of intangibility charm, right after-"

"Yes, yes, woman. Right after nearly killing me." Severus's sour mood, as usual, had returned along with his consciousness. "I don't really care that much about what she does to me, as long as the students are safe. Are they?"

"Yes, all of them."

"Then I'm going back to my rooms." With that, Severus pushed himself up and onto his feet in one graceful movement.

It was with considerably less grace that he immediately crumpled onto the floor. With what was left of his consciousness he berated himself for the indignity not only of falling to the floor in a graceless heap, but also of not noticing beforehand that he was clad only in boxer shorts. Then that small bit of consciousness was gone as well.

- - - -

Severus Snape stood outside the door of the single bathroom in the small house he shared with his wife, Juliette. Nearly every morning he ended up here, hesitating in front of the bathroom door, visions of simply running away dancing in his head. Severus had just turned twenty, and had been married to a fellow Death Eater for a year and a half.

Sometimes Severus thought that eighteen months of torture would have been preferable.

He dreaded mornings with his wife. Although she never once touched him as she slept beside him, Juliette expected Severus to behave in all other ways as a husband would. This included walking though that bathroom door, stripping naked, and entering the shower where she would undoubtedly be waiting for him. A part of Severus Snape's wife was rather psychotic, and the part that wasn't was simply evil.

His mind was twisted in worry, as usual. It was usually full of worry at being caught as a spy of Dumbledore's, worry at losing his life, and most of all worry that he had already lost his soul; however, when his wife was around his mind found other things to dwell on.

He knew the longer he stood outside the bathroom, the angrier she would be when he finally went in. He shuddered and brushed the right side of his face, where she had punched him last week after he refused to behave as she wanted. On the other hand, if he went in, he would have to go through the humiliation of being seen naked by someone who obviously didn't care for him or his body. The verbal abuse his wife heaped on him was just an added bonus. He had no option that was the least bit pleasant.

Although one and a half long, hellish years ago, he had stood before hundreds of society's most prominent witches and wizards and proclaimed his everlasting devotion to the woman who was now his wife, Severus knew he did not love her. Such is the fate of a man married to a higher-ranking Death Eater.

He sighed and, knowing that Juliette would only get nastier as time progressed, Severus strode into the bathroom.

"Where have you been? Are you too stupid to find your own clothing?" It was truly amazing how this beautiful woman could speak with such malice in her voice. He was managing to develop a similar venomous tone to go with his innate sarcasm and surliness, but Juliette could still manage to be nastier on many occasions. Hairbrush in hand, Juliette stood before the mirror.

"I–"

"Shut up," she said, giving Severus a quick smack to the back of the head. "I don't care what you have to say. Now take your clothes off like a proper husband." She had finished brushing her hair, which was charmed dark brown, and had removed her robes, revealing a pale, demure body clothed in black lace underthings. She removed these as well and stepped into a spray of water that Severus knew was too hot for him.

"Get in." It was an order. Severus stood still, wondering why he didn't save his skin and just strip. Juliette pulled the shower curtain aside and glared at Severus.

"Look, I know it's small, and that you are an ugly, scrawny man, so just get out of those robes and in here before I crack you over the head!"

There was no flexibility in that glare. Severus quickly shed his clothing and stepped into the shower, careful not to brush against his ice queen of a wife in doing so.

He immediately got what he suspected was coming: Juliette slapped him hard, clipping his left ear in the process. Severus nearly lost his balance and grabbed at the wall for support. He didn't dare do anything to Juliette; she was, after all, one of Voldemort's favorite Death Eaters.

In great haste Severus soaped himself up, washed his hair and got out of the shower. He sometimes mused that if he ever got away from all of this mess he would never again want to step into a shower for all of the humiliating and painful memories it brought him. The thought of Juliette turned him off from bathing whenever she was around, and the six months since he had become a spy for Albus Dumbledore had done nothing to erase the memories of the breakdown he had suffered within the same small space. It also didn't help that suicide by drowning tended to run in his family.

Severus quickly dressed and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. In a different life he may have been a vain man, using glamour after glamour to make himself as beautiful as possible, such as Juliette did. Nonetheless, he supposed he hadn't started life as such a bad looking guy: sure, his nose was a bit on the large side, but he rather liked his pale complexion and long black hair. Of course the bruises did detract from his appearance; his left ear was turning a shade of purple that promised to last all day under whatever concealing spell he cast over it, and having his nose broken a year back had just made it larger. Some days, he truly hated his wife, others, he simply wondered how she could lack even the smallest shred of love in her cold, cold heart. He comforted himself with the knowledge that, at very least, he would be free from his house in a matter of minutes, when he would Apparate to work at the potions shop in Diagon Alley and Juliette would leave for her perfectly legitimate job at the Ministry. It was after hours that he would see her again, and then it would be from behind a mask.

"The Dark Lord is going to summon us and our brethren tonight at moonrise. Bring your poisons with you… the slow ones." Her voice shook him out of his introspection and he allowed himself a sneer in her direction.

"You always have advance notice, don't you. Sometimes I think the reason you won't screw me, Juliette, is because you have the naiveté to think that you're saving yourself for Voldemort. As if he would ever associate himself with someone like you. You're so frigid it would be like sleeping with an ice statue." He laughed mirthlessly at her because he knew he was right: his wife was a virgin and spoke the Dark Lord's name in her sleep.

She instantly slapped him again, this time with her left hand. Severus didn't even look at her.

"How dare you! May I remind you that I've been a Death Eater for considerably longer than you and could get rid of you at any time, if it weren't for the fact that I need our marriage as a cover. I am one of Voldemort's best assassins; you are just a little boy with a cauldron."

"At least I'm not a delusional, sexually confused psychopath like you."

Those turned out to be the last words he would say for quite some time, for at his remark Juliette pushed him viciously. He tripped and with a thud his head hit the edge of the bathtub. Juliette summoned her work robes, dressed herself, and braided her hair as blood pooled around the half-conscious man's head.

Just before leaving, as she stepped over Severus's still form, she pointed her wand at him and muttered a charm to stop the bleeding. Thereby assured that he wouldn't die, she walked out of the room and shut the door.

- - - -

Severus Snape woke from a half-remembered dream late at night on October fifth. For a brief, disoriented moment, he thought that it was 1980, and that he was in a Muggle hospital… that he had smashed his head on a bathtub.

Then the events of the previous day returned to him. He wasn't twenty years old anymore, he wasn't in a Muggle hospital… and his wife was most certainly dead. He thought.

While he had felt all right when he had previously been conscious, he certainly did not feel that way now. His head ached all the way down to his teeth and his back was sore, probably from hitting the wall at thirty miles per hour. Remembering the circumstances in which he had left the land of the living, he groaned in embarrassment. Of all things, fainting in front of Poppy Pomfrey! He would never, ever live this down.

Trying to lift his head in the dimmed light, he found that it would not move from the surface of the bed. Upon attempting to move his legs and arms and finding them immobile as well, he came to the conclusion that he had been tied down, and quite thoroughly.

"Well, it looks like Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened. I swear, I wasn't the one to kiss you." Madam Pomfrey's usually sweet voice was tense with worry and no small amount of annoyance.

"Did you have to strap my _head_ down as well, Poppy?" he asked. Severus had meant for his comment to come out in his usual condescending tone, instead he merely sounded exhausted and pathetic.

"Yes, I did, after the stupid stunt you pulled yesterday. Honestly, I would have expected you to be a little more intelligent, Severus."

"Yesterday?"

"Yes, Severus, _yesterday_. Albus has been worried sick about you! Did you know there were rumors going around the school that you were dead? Professor Flitwick's been working all day to fortify the wards around the castle, the entire student body's been ordered to stay inside, and the front page of the Daily Prophet is sporting a picture of the Dark Mark in the Great Hall and a headline that says 'Dark forces infiltrate Hogwarts.' You've missed a lot because you just had to get up and make your concussion worse!"

"I- I'm sorry Poppy, I should have thought ahead. I was just…" Severus was at a loss for words. It wasn't the fact that he had been lectured by the mediwitch, for almost every patient of Poppy's received a lecture at some point. It was simply that the gravity of the situation was sinking in.

His wife - _his dead wife_ - was alive and well.

She had tried and damn nearly succeeded in simply walking Harry Potter out of Hogwarts and bringing him directly to the Dark Lord.

_Oh, dear merciful gods_. He had just completely blown his cover. For the past two and a half years, Voldemort had been under the impression that his loyal interrogator and Potions Master was also allowing Death Eater parents into and out of the castle, keeping the wards off of them, and keeping their identities a secret from the rest of the staff. _That _Severus would not in any way have stopped Juliette from leaving. A truly loyal Death Eater would have given his life if it meant allowing Voldemort to get his hands on the Potter boy.

For a moment, Severus thought he was going to faint again.

Madam Pomfrey must have noticed his distress because she quickly waved away the cords that bound him and sat in the chair beside his bed.

"What is it, Severus?"

Severus closed his eyes. "I've just signed my death warrant, Poppy. I'm as good as a walking corpse." He was so upset that he forgot to be sarcastic.

Poppy Pomfrey had always had a tacit agreement with Severus Snape: that she, knowing of the Dark Mark on his arm, would not ask about his affiliations with Voldemort and that he, Severus, would not stay away from the hospital wing in order to hide it. Dumbledore had assured her privately that Severus was a good man, and until now, she had had no reason to ever question him about his past.

Now, she had a reason, and a bad feeling about the answer.

"Severus, you know that I know about the mark on your arm… that you help us out in the fight against You-Know-Who. What just happened?"

It must have been either the concussion, blood loss or potions that made him talk, for far in contrast to his usual private self, Severus actually told her. The slightly commandeering mediwitch had been the closest thing, besides the Headmaster, to a confidant that he had ever had, and he supposed he owed her an explanation. After all, in sixteen years, she had never asked more about his past than was necessary to treat his various spell-related injuries.

Severus sighed. "It's a long story, Poppy."

"I don't have any other patients."

Severus hesitated, then began to speak. "I'm a Death Eater… I'm sure you know that. I joined right after I graduated," he said wearily. "I was seventeen years old when I was initiated, right out of Hogwarts… and very stupid.

"Those were dark days - I'm sure you remember. The Dark Lord and the Death Eaters were at the height of their power, and the Ministry, while under constant attack by them- by us- had heightened its surveillance of any witch or wizard who looked the least bit suspicious. Juliette… she was one of the only female Death Eaters besides Bellatrix Lestrange, but even at the first meeting I attended I knew she was…different. The Dark Lord, he seemed to favor her, like she was kin or something. When we would Apparate to wherever the Dark Lord wanted us, she would always be there already. I… I worked for the Death Eaters as a potions brewer, usually, researching newer and less detectible poisons… ways to make people stronger… ways to make people talk…"

He stopped and lifted his hands to his face, tormented by the memory of what his poisons and interrogations had done to their victims. Eyes closed, he continued. "About a year after I joined the Death Eaters, Juliette did something wrong. She worked within the Ministry herself, and she had been caught with some classified information. A week later, several people from the Ministry were murdered, brutally. I suppose she interrogated them and killed them afterwards: I wasn't present at that particular event. She found out that the Ministry was initiating an investigation into her activities outside of work. It really wouldn't have been a problem if she's wanted to quit her job, but she was a valuable source of information. The Dark Lord came up with the solution to her problem.

"I still remember the day when I was summoned… only to find that I was the only one there besides him… and her." He gave half of a sarcastic smile. "I thought he was going to kill me at first. But instead, he said that we were to announce our engagement the next day at the annual Ministry ball."

Poppy nodded: she vaguely remembered the event, as she had been doing research for the Ministry at the time.

Severus continued. "I don't really know why I was chosen for the… task… of marrying her. I suppose I was chosen to be her husband simply because I was around her age, and I was already somewhat well-known by then as a potion-maker. I'd been licensed as a first-order Potions Master a few months before, maybe you remember that the Daily Prophet did a very brief back-page article on me that week." Poppy nodded again, although she didn't remember it at all.

I was the youngest person in a long while to attain first order in such a short time, and I suppose Voldemort thought that I would be a good candidate, as I was generally looked up to, if not liked. I married Juliette in a large public ceremony which I've since tried to forget, and we lived together in a small house on the outskirts of London. We kept up the impression of a doting, loving, and dedicated couple." He snorted. "And it worked. The ministry, being filled with sentimental fools, stopped their investigations after a while, and we settled into a life as a… couple." The revulsion in his tone as he said the word was unmistakable. He looked as if he had just swallowed something vile, and it wasn't one of Poppy's potions.

"Juliette never loved me, or even liked me, for that matter. At first, she was simply cold to me… by our first anniversary, she had become abusive… I never dared to hit her back – she probably could have had me killed without too much trouble." Severus balled his hands into fists, turning angrily to Poppy. "Gods, I was in _chains_ in that house! I hated it, and the worst part was the way she treated me in public, so loving and kind…and she was so beautiful and yet so hard inside-" It was only the years of building self-control that Severus had put behind him that kept the humiliation out of his voice as he remembered how he had felt on his wedding night, the first time she told him flat-out that their marriage was a farce, the first time she had slapped him… He had known, of course, that the marriage was a farce, but he had still held within him a flame of hope that someone had liked him… that she had picked him over the other young Death Eaters because of some personal preference. The bitter disappointment of finding out he was completely unwanted had blown out that flame.

He continued in an angrier voice. "She hurt me, Poppy… she broke bones in my face, gave me black eyes… and every day I would use glamours to cover my marks and I would go off to work. My co-workers were none the wiser. Idiots. If I had been someone they liked, they would have noticed… At night, when we were summoned, the Dark Lord would laugh at my injuries and tell Juliette that her heart was as black as his. He made it sound like praise."

Poppy continued to sit in silence as Severus have a short, humorless laugh.

"And you know what's the ironic thing, Poppy? I was still loyal. I was as just as bad as she was. Not even all of that misery could knock the _stupidity_ out of me! No, it took even more than that to change my mind. I remember that day like it was yesterday… the horror of it all… She brought a man home with her, a fellow from the Ministry. He had been in my class at Hogwarts, a Slytherin like me… I _knew_ him, Poppy…" Severus closed his eyes again and trailed off, remaining silent long enough that Poppy began to think he'd fallen asleep.

"Severus?" she asked gently. The frown line between Severus's eyes deepened, and he continued in an almost choked voice.

"She brought him down into the basement and disarmed him, tied him down. I was called down to make a potion for her… a poison that can only be made with the victim's blood. We forced him to drink it. He talked, and afterward… she took the vial of antidote from me and instead of giving it to him, she shattered it on the floor. We watched, we waited… and he died, Poppy. We watched him die like it was entertaining. Once he was dead, she used a Portkey she had enchanted at work – a pebble – and sent his body back to the Ministry. I've never forgotten the look of betrayal on his face as that vial hit the floor."

Severus's voice cracked as he said the last sentence and Poppy realized with some amazement that Severus was truly upset. She could not imagine what it must have been like to see a fellow student, perhaps an old friend, die by one's own hand. Poppy put her hand on his as he continued, and surprisingly, he did not pull his away.

"The next day I didn't go to work. I took a pretty strong poison and… pretended to be ill. After she left, I took the antidote and Apparated to Hogsmeade. I went to the school and found Dumbledore, and I told him everything. I thought he was going to send me straight to Azkaban… I wouldn't have cared. I didn't have a happy thought in my mind for the Dementors to suck from me. And he did something I never expected: he gave me a second chance. He made me a spy… a double agent. And then a little over a year later, Harry Potter refused to die and the Dark Lord vanished without a trace.

I got home late that night… it was actually a little before dawn… and found my wife on the floor, dead. Just like that, dead. I took her to a Muggle coroner, bewitched him into telling me what had happened to her. The autopsy showed that she died of a massive, sudden brain hemorrhage… the coroner said that when he cut her open he couldn't even see her brain through all the blood. She was buried on the same day as Lily and James Potter: I actually went to their funeral, but not hers.

"It was such a strange day, Poppy, I'm sure you remember it, for the world was mourning for the dead and at the same time joyous at the knowledge that the Dark Lord was gone. I can't say that Juliette's death upset me. I took off my wedding ring and never put it back on. The next week, Albus Dumbledore offered me the position of Potions Professor here at Hogwarts, set up to start in '82."

Having finished the worst of his tale, Severus seemed to abruptly snap back into reality. He quickly pulled his hand out from under Poppy's and folded his arms over his chest.

"I had hoped against hope that the Dark Lord was really gone, but the year that wretched Potter boy came here, I found out that Quirrell was following orders from a Dark wizard… and two and a half years ago, as you know, I became a spy again. And now I've been exposed. I don't know how, but my wife, the Dark Lord's favorite Death Eater, is alive again. She was the one who came here yesterday, and I'm sure she was relying on me to stay silent and let her leave quietly with Potter. I'm a dead man, Poppy. By now the Dark Lord knows what I am. He'll be plotting my death by morning."

- - - -

**Thanks: **

1) Silverthreads and Suzuki-chan, for reviewing

2) whoever invented the phrase "Merlin's balls!" It's great!


	3. Ch3: An Unholy Conception

Up From the Dust

Chapter 3:

An Unholy Conception

All in all, Severus Snape was in the hospital wing for two days after his run-in with Juliette. Around ten o'clock at night on October sixth, Snape was woken up by a sudden, intense pain in his left arm. Cursing, he tried to stand, but found that upon sitting, dizziness overtook him.

"Blast it!" he hissed to himself, quickly lying back down. Severus had been able to sit up and walk around during the day, and had started correcting papers for his class. He recognized the effects of a Dizziness Potion when he saw them, and recalled that that particular draught tasted just like… the sleeping potion Poppy had forced him to drink earlier. Being in this condition was as bad as being tied down to the bed. His arm burning, he clenched his left hand into a fist, willed the pain to pass, and thought furious thoughts about the Mediwitch.

"Poppy," he called softy. His tone was as smooth and cold as a black marble floor: the kind people tended to slip on.

"Yes, Severus?" came the reply. Poppy walked to his bedside in the dim light, her expression smug.

"You know very well what I am going to ask you about!" Severus hated being incapacitated, to the point where he had gotten out of bed with a severe concussion two days before. He tried his best to look furious and indignant, but highly doubted that he did. The potion only induced dizziness if one sat up or attempted to stand, and Severus knew so, which was the reason he had practically glued himself to the bed. Dizziness Potion could cause severe nausea and worse if the drinker tried to remain upright, and Severus had had quite enough of humiliating himself in front of Poppy.

Madam Pomfrey couldn't help herself at the sight of Severus's ramrod-straight body and furious expression. It had been a hard couple of days. She struggled to keep a straight face, but ended up chuckling softly anyway.

"Stop your idiotic tittering and give me the antidote at once! I've been summoned! This may be my one chance to redeem myself!" Severus hissed his words through clenched teeth: the pain was getting worse, and this idiot woman was sitting there laughing at his expense.

Madam Pomfrey's expression abruptly changed to something unreadable.

"Oh, Severus. Do you really think we'd let you go? Albus thought he lost you two days ago. He won't risk you again."

_The old, sentimental fool!_ thought Severus. _Trying to protect me…_

But then again, Albus Dumbledore had never been one to take "no" for an answer – he was the kind of person who could convince you in a few sentences to make a promise under Veritaserum, eternal obligation to keep it and all. If Albus told Severus to remain in the castle for the rest of his life, Severus would really have no choice but to obey him.

Resignedly, but still snappishly, Severus spat his next words out.

"Can you at least give me something for the pain, then?"

- - - -

The Dark Lord stood in all his serpentine glory in the center of a circle of black-robed followers. The moon was full tonight and the bonfire next to which Voldemort stood cast eerie shadows upon the ground and the surrounding gravestones. Although Malfoy Manor and a series of commandeered Muggle houses had been the usual places for his small meetings throughout the summer, Voldemort had a strange liking for cemeteries, and held his more important meetings amidst the dead.

This particular cemetery was the same place in which he had regained his strength two years ago.

"My Death Eaters," he began, his cold voice causing a shudder to pass through his "audience." "Tonight marks the beginning of a new era, a time for the forces of the Dark to arise from the dust and for us to take our place as rulers of this world!"

A murmur went through the circle.

Voldemort continued from his place beside the fire. "Tonight, I will take the woman among you who has proven the most loyal, the blackest of heart, and the purest of blood. She will become my Queen, and your second leader. Her child shall be my heir."

Voldemort gazed piercingly into the masked face of Lucius Malfoy as he said those words; he gave a similar look to the hooded figure of Bellatrix Lestrange, who stood with her husband several places away from Malfoy. Lucius practically squirmed under such scrutiny, but said nothing to argue. Malfoy had hoped for years that he, and later his own son, Draco, would become Voldemort's heir, and he knew that the extremely competitive Bellatrix hated taking second place to another woman. However, the Dark Lord had found a way to beget a child of his own, and Lucius and his sister-in-law remained silent and grudgingly respectful.

"Come forward, Juliette."

There was one gap in the circle; a gap representing the single Death Eater who had not come to the meeting. From beside the gap came a smaller hooded figure, masked as well. She shed her black cloak, mask, and hood as she reached the center of the circle and stood in blood-red robes next to the Dark Lord. Next to the Dark Lord, after all, was her rightful place.

This night, she had avoided changing her appearance at all. Juliette MacBride Snape rarely left her home without some form of concealing spell to change her appearance. Under all the cosmetic changes, she was a petite woman, small-boned and with narrow hips, an oval face, and blonde hair. She was a rather pretty woman… until she opened her mouth. Or took out her wand.

Death Eaters rarely, if ever, shed their masks during a meeting. Although most of them knew the identities of their fellows, it was considered something of a taboo to expose oneself in front of the entire group. Therefore, such a public unmasking stirred the Death Eaters for the second time into a low murmur.

"Silence!"

The voice belonged not to Lord Voldemort, but to the woman beside him.

The man unfortunate enough to be the last speaking turned out to be the traitor Wormtail. Juliette stepped from the center of the circle to face him, leaving her Lord in the center to watch with cruel amusement. Those near her stared with a mixture of horror and amazement as Wormtail fell to his knees and then to the ground, screaming in agony. Juliette's wand was pointed at him, but she had not uttered aloud the word that everyone expected: _Crucio_.

Somatic spells had, of course, existed for thousands of years before Juliette MacBride Snape used her mind alone to cast an Unforgivable curse. Merlin had been known to use them often, as had the four Founders of Hogwarts. This was not, however, the type of spell that was easily performed without words.

Wormtail cowered, Lucius and Bellatrix stared, and then, as if they were one being, the Death Eaters bowed to Voldemort and his Queen.

- - - -

The ritual began at midnight, amidst the circle of Death Eaters. The bonfire remained in the center of the circle, and by its side stood the Dark Lord and his now very much feared favorite Death Eater.

There, those in masks watched as the Dark Lord and his chosen one exchanged a passionate kiss next to the fire. A wave of Voldemort's hand made the fire stretch out as if with a life of its own. Like a serpent, it spun into a ring of ten-foot-high red flames which circled the soon-to-be lovers and concealed them from view.

Within the fire, Voldemort produced a dagger from within his robes, slitting his left wrist with the blade. He opened his lady's robes; she wore nothing underneath. Then, with agonizing slowness, Voldemort drew the dagger across her abdomen, opening a deep gash in her pale flesh. As the blood began to pour from the wound, Voldemort started an incantation which would invoke the very essence of Dark magic into her womb: magic that even Voldemort could not wield alone. Drawn from the Earth, from each Death Eater standing outside of the ring of fire, and from Voldemort himself, the magic coalesced in Juliette's body.

She screamed – but it was not pain that made Juliette scream. It was power, and her lust for power was second only to her lust for the Dark Lord himself.

Riding on a wave of evil magic, Juliette healed herself, placing her small hands over what could easily been a mortal wound. She then reached out to Voldemort with her bloody hands and pulled him down into the dust, the flames protecting and fortifying them as they began a very unholy conception.

- - - -

Severus Snape was still lying, incapacitated, in the Hospital wing when he heard the first of the screams.

Not daring to sit up, he turned his head toward the sound as Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room in her nightdress.

"What's going on?" she asked, waving her wand at the candles in the room. She bustled to the door of the wing, but found nothing.

"Well obviously, somebody is in need of your ministrations, Poppy. Honestly, when does a scream at Hogwarts not indicate such a need?" Severus was not looking cheerful, lying like a wooden board on his bed in the hospital wing. His neck was very, very stiff.

The silence was broken again by a scream, masculine by the sound of it. The sound was distinctly closer this time, and in the blink of an eye, Madam Pomfrey was out of the room. Her running steps could be heard down the corridor.

The footsteps stopped and began to return to the hospital wing. As Poppy's footfalls came closer, Severus noticed with dismay, the sound of three other sets of feet became obvious, as well as the sound of hushed, frantic voices.

"-just woke up screaming and grabbing at his forehead! I don't even know if he knows where he is, he just keeps muttering about evil things and fire!" The voice belonged, undoubtedly, to a Mr. Ronald Weasley.

The boy's frantic explanation was interrupted by another, long shriek of pain, followed by moaning, gasping breaths.

"Calm down, young man. Can either of you tell me if anything unusual happened before he went to sleep or during the night?" That was Poppy's voice – quite close to the doorway.

"Well, Madam Pomfrey, he mentioned yesterday that he felt… a bit off, like something bad was going to happen. He fell asleep in the common room around ten o'clock while I was playing chess with Ron and woke up a minute later looking like he'd foreseen his own death! I do hope he'll be all right." Hermione Granger's voice, while calmer, was edged with worry as well.

The door to the hospital wing burst open, and in walked Poppy, followed by what could very well be three of Severus's least-favorite people in the entire world. The three teenagers were dressed in their pajamas, looking unkempt. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley flanked their best friend, Harry Potter.

The boy was practically convulsing, writhing in the arms of his friends. He screamed again, causing the two holding him up to jump. Granger was pale to the point of translucence and seemed even smaller than usual under a cloud of unbrushed, bushy hair. However, it was Weasley that really surprised Snape, for his freckled face was streaked with tears.

_They're really a wreck, those three_, thought Severus, as Madam Pomfrey and Potter's friends forced Potter onto a nearby bed. _They don't even notice I'm here._ Poppy quickly tied the writhing boy down and began waving her wand over him, but the aura which appeared over Potter was pure blue.

Except for the scar. A red lightning-bolt shape appeared in the blue field above the boy's forehead. Potter moaned as she brushed the hair from his forehead to find nothing visibly wrong.

"It's too late-" he muttered, gasping.

"What is it, dear?" asked Poppy, still searching for a physical cause of his condition.

"Fire- Blood- they have to be stopped!" The nearly delirious boy began fighting against the cords which held him down: at the other side of the bed, Hermione Granger hugged Ron Weasley, pressing his face into her shoulder.

"We'll all DIE!" Potter screamed, straining still.

"This is too much," muttered Poppy. "I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but you'll thank me for this tomorrow. Stupefy!"

The room abruptly went quiet as Potter fell back, unconscious. Madam Pomfrey once again conjured the diagnosing aura around the boy, which had dissipated when she stunned him. The only sound in the room was a quiet sniffling from Ron's direction.

"There, there, Ron. He'll be alright," said Hermione, patting her friend's back. Ron Weasley lifted his head from her shoulder and wiped his face on his sleeve. It was only then that he noticed Professor Snape a few beds away.

Weasley's face quickly became the color of his hair, and the boy covered his face in embarrassment. However, Snape was no longer paying attention to him.

Thoughts were whirling like miniature Quidditch players through Snape's head. He'd been summoned a few hours ago, and currently, even through the comforting haze of the pain-killing potion, he could still feel the Mark burning. Normal meetings never took that long.

His wife, in whom Voldemort had had an unusual interest, was mysteriously alive again.

She had tried to kidnap the Potter boy.

Potter was undoubtedly feeling the backlash of a very powerful Dark spell.

_Dear gods. They've done the unthinkable._

"Poppy-" he said through gritted teeth. "Get. Me. The. Antidote…. NOW."

Madam Pomfrey nearly tripped over Hermione Granger, who was standing in front of an open cabinet with a small bottle in her hand.

"Dizziness Potion, Madam Pomfrey?"

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Poppy replied, taking the vial without even looking at it. She brought it to Severus, who was struggling to sit up. The room was spinning unpleasantly for him as he clutched at the wall for support. He wouldn't just take any potion without checking to see what it was, especially if it was dispensed by some know-it-all Gryffindor.

As he scanned the name on the label and the ingredients list, his vision began to tunnel and a wave of nausea passed over him. _I'll be damned if I swallow this without knowing what's in it,_ he thought stubbornly. His stomach did an unpleasant somersault as he read the last ingredient on the label and belatedly noticed his own signature at the bottom.

Severus popped the stopper out of the vial and downed the concoction, falling back on the bed a moment later. They _should call it a Hideous Nausea Potion instead_, he thought unhappily, trying not to feel seasick.

It took a few moments for the potion to take effect, and Severus popped out of bed a second later, grabbing his wand from the bedside table. Hermione Granger gave him an indignant look: She must have seen him scanning the label.

Pomfrey stepped in front of Severus. "Professor Snape, I highly recommend-"

"Do kindly save your mother-hen attitude for the brats, Poppy," said Severus sourly, as he donned the outer robes and cloak that had been placed by his bed by the house-elves. Ignoring the new headache that rose in the back of his skull, Severus Snape swept out of the hospital wing in a flurry of black cloth.

A muffled "Accio mask!" echoed from down the corridor, and then Snape's rapid footfalls could be heard no more.

- - - -

Lucius Malfoy stood within the circle of Death Eaters, watching in awe as the ring of fire fluctuated and deepened in color.

At least, it appeared that he was in awe. In fact, Lucius was quite bored, and the fact that what was going on sparked intense jealousy in him did nothing to make him more interested.

A few days before, he had been Voldemort's right-hand man. A few days before, he had been set to become Voldemort's successor. Now, he had to sit by and let his retinas disintegrate as Voldemort did the-Gods-knew-what in the middle of the fire with _her_.

Gods, he hated her. What was she to be called now? The High Sorceress or some stupid Latin name... _I'll remember it later, once she starts striking fear into the hearts of the wizarding community_, he thought bitterly. _Then there will be a "She who must not be named" as well._

Lucius felt like a forsaken son. He'd been ignored for the last week, along with many of Voldemort's other favorites. He glanced over at his sister-in-law, who stared into the fire with what he could only imagine was resignation; the reappearance of her harshest rival had suppressed Bellatrix's spirit. Unfortunately for Bellatrix, Juliette's _dying_ for Voldemort somewhat outweighed Bellatrix's mere fourteen years in prison: his wife's sister had been upstaged. _Ah, Bella_, he thought. _A year ago, you wouldn't have put up with this kind of crap_.

So lost in thought was Lucius that he did not notice the shadowed figure creep up behind him. He continued to stare into the fire.

His staring was interrupted abruptly by the feeling of thin, yet strong, arms around his neck. He was quickly dragged back from his place in a stranglehold, unable even to draw his wand as he struggled to breathe. Crabbe and Goyle, both truly in awe of the ritual being performed and also partially paralyzed by the power of the Dark magic in the air, did not even notice as the man they were supposed to bodyguard was silently removed from their presence.

- - - -

The mausoleum was dark, cold, dry, and silent. At least for the moment.

"Alohamora!"

The door banged open and two cloaked, hooded men stumbled inside. The taller, thinner man dragged the unconscious one inside and dropped him unceremoniously on the marble floor before closing the door. He took the other man's wand and used it to light the room.

He used a partial body bind on the sleeper before roughly shaking him awake.

Lucius Malfoy jerked his head up as awareness returned to him. He quickly found, however, that he could only move his head.

"Whoever you are, you're a dead man! You won't last a week before the Dark Lord takes you! He'll make you suffer-"

A hand was clapped over his mouth.

"Honestly, Lucius, I expected a more… dignified… performance from one of your unique status." Severus Snape lowered his hood. Lucius narrowed his eyes at him.

"It has come to my attention that my… late wife has made an unexpected return from the dead, spreading nasty rumours about my being a traitor. No doubt you've been instructed to kill me."

Lucius shook Snape's hand off and answered in a calmer tone. "Not kill you, Severus. Bring you to _him_. Gods know what he's going to do to you."

Severus laughed mirthlessly. "Really, I thought you capable of independent thought, Lucius. Did it ever occur to you that letting Juliette walk out of Hogwarts uninhibited would lose me my position as a spy? I can just see Albus Dumbledore forgiving me for letting his golden goose walk right out the door and into our Lord's hands." His voice was as smooth and cold as ice.

"A truly loyal Death Eater would have given up his life if it meant getting that brat Potter."

Severus scowled at Lucius. "Oh, step down off of your pedestal of righteousness, Lucius. You would never give your life for such a small thing."

Lucius did not reply. Although he would not acknowledge it, Lucius knew that Severus was right. So did Severus.

Lucius returned Severus's scowl. "Let me go, would you?" he asked.

Severus released the body bind and placed Malfoy's wand on the floor in front of him. Rearmed, Malfoy stood up to face his fellow Death Eater.

"Whom do you trust, Lucius? Me, or her?" Inside, Severus prayed that Lucius was as jealous as he thought. Jealousy tended to make people stupid.

For a moment, a scheming look crossed Lucius's face. Then it was gone, replaced by a smile. He took a step toward Severus and gave him a brotherly thump on the back.

"Why in hell didn't you show up for the ritual?" he asked. "You've just dug yourself a deeper grave."

"I would have been killed on the spot had I shown up earlier. As much as I hate to admit it, I need you, Lucius. The Dark Lord will believe you. You've been a Death Eater for longer than I have. You have to try to convince him that there was no way I could have let her go." _That's pretty weak, Severus, _he thought to himself.

_Shut up_, he thought back.

As an afterthought, he added, "Your son would have had a much less… liberal Head of House if I were to be sent to Azkaban by the Ministry… or killed by the Dark Lord. Helping me really is in your… best interest."

Malfoy hesitated. "Fine," he said shortly. "You owe me dearly, my friend."

------

**Thanks** to Mystic Dragonsfire, ShadowedHand, and Katie for reviewing. It's very much appreciated, guys!


	4. Ch4: Scattered Memories

Up From the Dust

Chapter 4:   
Scattered Memories

"Hermione?"

"Mmph? What? Oh, sorry Ron!"

Hermione Granger picked her head up from Ron Weasley's shoulder and yawned. "Did something happen?"

"Madam Pomfrey's gone to see the Headmaster," said Ron. The sight of Harry sleeping peacefully had done much to improve Ron's mood, even if the source of his friend's slumber was unnatural and a bit violent.

Hermione rubbed her eyes and sat up straighter. She had been up late the previous night working on some advanced Arithmancy work for Professor Vector and had barely been in bed for an hour that night before Harry's screaming had woken up all of Gryffindor Tower, including herself.

"How's Harry?" she asked, looking over to their friend's still form. The bright-red lightning bolt shape still hovered over his forehead.

"No change. But Madam Pomfrey zapped him good. He wouldn't wake up on his own even if nothing else were wrong with him…" Ron hesitated, then spoke again.

"Hermione? You won't tell anybody about… you know…"

_Ah yes_, thought Hermione affectionately, _his masculine pride_. Her pajamas were still wet where he had cried on them.

"No, of course not, Ron. Besides, it's OK to be upset. Everything has been a mess around here since Saturday, even counting the extra credit work I've been allowed to do." Her companion rolled his eyes.

Hermione thought back to the events of half an hour ago. She knew Ron must have been mortified when he turned his tear-streaked face to the other end of the room to see his batlike Potions professor in the other bed.

"Where do you reckon old Snape's gotten off to anyway?" asked Ron

Hermione sniffed indignantly, remembering Snape's stubborn label-reading. She was, after all, at the top of Professor Snape's Advanced Potions class. "I suppose he's gone to find out what's going on with You-Know-Who that would do such a thing." Her expression softened. "His composure was most definitely lacking, though. I hope he's all right."

"It would serve the old git right to squirm a bit after six years of making us do the same."

"Yes, but I'm sure even Harry wouldn't want him to die."

The thought silenced Ron Weasley quite effectively.

- - - -

The fire was going out.

After two hours, the red flames ceased their dance and slowly folded down in reverence to the two figures that stood within them.

Lord Voldemort banished the remainder of the flames with a flick of his wand, dissipating the cloud of Dark magic that had permeated the area.

Beside him stood a woman with pale, corpselike skin and deep red eyes. She held her thin hands over her belly protectively and surveyed her followers.

They bowed.

- - - -

The jagged line of red faded to blue above the forehead of Harry Potter, and his friends sighed with relief.

Madam Pomfrey, after shooing then out of the wing, sat down in a high-backed chair and began to wait for Severus.

- - - -

"Don't forget to mention that I had no choice!" hissed Severus Snape as he walked briskly down the corridor next to his long-time acquaintance. "If I'm reduced to a pile of ashes due to your negligence, Lucius, I will haunt you until the day you die. I'll make you give clothes to all your house-elves – and I've always been better than you at the Imperius Curse." His tone indicated that he was not kidding.

"Oh do try not to get your knickers in a twist, Severus. As you say, 'you can brew poisons that most people can't even pronounce.' The Dark Lord can make better use of you if you're still alive." Lucius stopped in front of a massive oak door and muttered a password. The door swung open to reveal a richly furnished guest bedroom.

"You should be a motivational speaker," Snape said dryly, turning to face him. "Your comments send a thrill of self-confidence through the very center of my being." He stepped backward into the room, leaving the threshold between himself and Malfoy.

"Isn't that what friends are for?" asked Lucius, a devious grin spreading over his face.

"I am not your friend, Lucius. Don't deny that you are using me. After all, I am using you." He shut the door; a gale of arrogant laughter emanated from behind it.

Sighing, Severus removed his black cloak and tossed it onto a chair.

"You can't pronounce them either," he muttered. After casting half a dozen wards on the room, he sat down at the desk with a quill and parchment and began to write.

When he had finished his note, he sealed it with a charm and then tossed a bit of glittery powder into the fireplace. "Hogwarts, hospital wing," he muttered, throwing the letter into the flames.

When he finally went to sleep, he dreamt of endlessly falling onto hard, cold stone below.

- - - -

Severus Snape awoke to darkness for the fourth time and cursed under his breath. Usually, he was able to push aside the minor nightmares that plagued him and gain a few more hours of sleep, but tonight his demons refused to rest.

Severus was worried.

He missed his plain, dark and somewhat gloomy dungeon rooms, for one thing. The Malfoys liked to flaunt their wealth, and the huge room with its high ceiling gave him an agoraphobic feeling.

Sad to say, he missed his gray nightshirt, too. Lucius hadn't given him anything to sleep in, and he refused to face the snobbish look Narcissa would give him in the morning if he slept in his clothes. Therefore he not only felt small, but exposed, sleeping in socks and shorts.

He missed being in a position of power, instead of groveling at the feet of one of the most evil men in the country. What he would give to just be back at the school, giving detention to some disobedient Gryffindor…

Damn, did he miss the false feeling of security he'd had at Hogwarts, before this whole fiasco started. His vision of the future had been radically changed and then changed back in the past few hours: it had gone from "I'm a dead man" to "I just might have a chance at living" to "I'll be spending the rest of my life in hiding" to "I just might have a chance at living" once again. Although he hated to admit it, in the few hours in which he'd thought he would never come back to the Death Eaters he had begun to get used to the thought. Severus was terrified at the prospect of trying to gain back Voldemort's good favor, even if he had Lucius to back him up. The first time had been hard and painful enough, and though he was loath to admit it to even himself, he seriously doubted that Voldemort would trust him a second time.

Although he trusted Lucius Malfoy, Severus had doubts that the man had the leverage necessary to convince the Dark Lord. Back during his first year at Hogwarts, Lucius had been something of a protector to him, and he had been his best man at that horrible wedding all those years ago. That made him a potential ally to Severus, and if Voldemort was already set in his beliefs, he might just kill them both instead of keeping them. _Well,_ he thought ironically, _at least I'd take Lucius out with me._

Severus dressed and began to pace the room. Lucius expected him to remain at the manor until morning, as a sign of "friendship". He could just imagine what breakfast would be like: Lucius and Narcissa would occupy both ends of that ridiculously large dining-room table, placing Severus in the middle. He would then be subjected to half an hour of arrogant talk about the manor. "Did you like your room?" would be one question, to which he would have to answer an untruthful "yes." This would lead to a five-minute discussion about how old the room was, who designed it, and how much it cost to furnish – their favorite part. Then they would ask another question, which would be followed by another five minutes of bragging. The Malfoys would make arrogant hints about Voldemort and racist comments about Muggles. Of course young Draco would be mentioned, along with the ineptness of that "bumbling, sentimental fool" Dumbledore. Severus would have to agree with this comment and complain about how he was stuck playing the role of a loyal professor, all along keeping his voice in the snottiest, most Malfoy-esque tone possible.

He just couldn't do it. He'd have an aneurism.

And his head hurt enough as it was.

Severus ceased his pacing and walked to the door, slowly pushing the ten-foot-tall door open. Carrying his mask, with his wand up his sleeve, Severus prepared to do what he did second best: skulk. (The thing he did best was sweep around like a… what did Albus call him once? Ah, yes. A large, malevolent bat.)

"Severus! Not leaving so soon, I hope?" The false mirth in Lucius's voice made the hairs on Severus's neck stand on end.

Severus turned around to face his "friend," who had suddenly appeared in the corridor. _He probably had a house-elf stake out the hallway._

"I had heard that when one has a stick up one's posterior, using the lavatory becomes an endeavor far too difficult to undertake. I, however, do not have such a handicap, Lucius." The look on Snape's face could have frozen the sun.

Lucius stepped behind Severus and clapped him on the back with a bit more force than was necessary. He then placed that hand around his shoulders and steered him back into the guest room and to a somewhat smaller door. A private bathroom, of course. Severus cursed inwardly at his poor excuse.

"I trust you'll be at breakfast. Good night, Severus. Pleasant dreams."

With a smirk, Lucius left the room, closing the door behind him.

Upon trying it, Severus found that it was locked.

And warded.

Heavily.

Defeated, he began to pace again.

- - - -

"Therefore it came to be that the very social class system that had led to the greatness of the High Elven Empire was to lead to its downfall, as an eventual revolt of the Lesser Mages caused those Greater Mages to whom the power of upholding the empire had been allocated to turn to the Human wizards of the day for…"

The only sound to be heard in Professor Binns's seventh-year history class on Tuesday morning was the droning voice of the apparition himself. In fact, the monotone of his voice had much the same effect as a Muggle white-noise machine, causing many of those subjected to the sound of him for extended periods of time to simply doze off.

Ronald Weasley was no exception to the rule. He was slumped over his desk in the back row of the room, sleeping peacefully with his head pillowed on his textbook. Next to him sat Hermione, leaning on her elbow, a slightly stupefied expression on her face. The rest of the class was not much better, including the usually studious Ravenclaws with whom the Gryffindors shared History of Magic.

Ron Weasley abruptly let out a great snore. Startled awake by the sound of his own making, he bolted upright, wide-eyed, looking from side to side with an air of paranoia. Next to him, Hermione struggled not to laugh, clapping a hand over her mouth. This succeeded in causing her to snort in a most unladylike way, which in turn caused a ripple of giggles to travel through the half-anesthetized class.

Professor Binns took no notice of the scene playing out in the back of his classroom and continued the lesson.

- - - -

Harry Potter woke to find himself in his usual spot in the hospital wing. Upon trying to get up, he found that he couldn't move. Further examination led him to believe that he had been tied to the bed, and quite securely at that.

"Um… Madam Pomfrey?" He was surprised to find that his voice was hoarse, and tried to remember why he was in the Hospital Wing in the first place. He'd been up last night due to nightmares…

Memory returned to him at lightning speed, flooding his consciousness. Last night he'd been plagued by what would have been daydreams if they had not been so utterly disturbing. He shuddered as much as a very tightly bound person could as he remembered them.

- - - -

In the first vision, he'd been a spirit without a body. For the first part it had been rather pleasant, simply floating along, watching Muggles, machines, and animals. It seemed as if years went by in those few minutes. Then, he had felt a pulling sensation around his belly, as if an invisible and infinitely strong tether were pulling him back to the masses of living people below. He'd flown at incredible speed through the crowds and empty spaces, crossing the oceans, searching, searching… but he didn't know what he was searching for.

He found her in America… a witch, tall and strong. She was a pregnant, but probably didn't know it yet.

Before, he had felt like he were being pulled along by a rope. Now, he felt himself, or whoever he was, pull back, diving into the woman's belly, poisoning her womb, and the words _avada_ _kedavra_ had flowed, like a deadly caress, toward the child.

The woman had felt a brief pain, and then nothing. Harry knew what she never really would… that her child was no longer her own.

He'd snapped awake from that particular vision to find himself staring into his cauldron in Potions. Professor Flitwick was covering the class for Snape, and until he had zoned out, it had been a rather pleasant class. Hermione was shaking him and telling him to add the eye of newt. He'd shrugged off the bizarre dream and reached for the jar.

- - - -

In the second vision, he'd been an observer. The woman that he had seen before was in labor. She gave birth easily, but it quickly became apparent that something was wrong. While she and her husband were both tall and large-boned, with skin as dark and perfect as polished ebony, the baby was small, frail, pale, and blonde-haired. The puzzled mediwizard asked if they had used any spells on the fetus to change her appearance, and had performed an identity spell. Neither the man nor the woman registered as the child's biological parents. The woman had cried, even as her newborn child remained unnaturally silent.

The vision had flashed to perhaps a year and a half later. The blonde child was walking around with disconcerting ease, and her "father" was watching, smiling, offering encouraging words to her. The baby girl grabbed her father's wand from a loop in his pants, and he let her play with it. Harry watched the scene with a feeling of dread.

"That's a wand, darling. WAND. You'll have one someday. And you can go to Blakewood Academy, just like your mama and I did."

"Wand."

"Ooh, good girl!"

"Wand. Good girl."

The man looked thrilled. "Hey, Monica! Come here!" He turned his head to call for his wife.

The girl waved the wand like a much older person and pointed it at her father.

"Avada Kedavra!" she intoned, the awful words made no less terrible by the delicate sound of her baby's voice. Her father died instantly and fell to the floor.

Harry had snapped awake from that dream to find himself sweating, his heart hammering in his chest. He was sitting in a chair in the common room, and Ron was asking him if he was all right. He'd said that he'd just been daydreaming and took up Ron's offer to play chess.

- - - -

The final vision had been the worst. Harry had found himself, once again, playing the role of another person. This time, as he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he recognized himself as Monica, the blonde girl's mother.

"Hey, Monica! Come here!" came a voice from downstairs.

Monica turned and walked out of the bedroom, where she had been practicing an advanced levitation charm, and stepped over the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs and into the living room. She felt the blood drain out of her face as she saw the father of her child lying on the carpet. Her daughter was nowhere to be found.

She rushed to check on the fallen man and, finding him dead, picked his upper body off the ground and cradled him in her arms. She sobbed over the poor dead man's lifeless body until a single word caused her to look up.

"Mama." The child walked into the room, carrying thirteen inches of ash with a dragon heartstring core. Her husband's wand.

So shocked was Monica that she missed the chance to save herself. The girl rattled off a string of Latin words, using the dead man's wand to cast the spell on her mother. Harry, in Monica's body, felt the room blur and spin as a wave of weakness washed over her. Her strong muscles became slack and her body thinned out as the draining spell took effect, and she toppled to the floor, nearly lifeless. A blonde-haired, teenaged girl stood over her with a look of evil triumph on her face.

The last thing Harry remembered was the sound of the killing curse leaving the girl's lips, and then there was only blackness.

He'd woken violently from the last vision, standing up abruptly and toppling his chair behind him. Ron, sitting on one side of the chessboard, was looking at him worriedly, and Hermione, on the other side, was also staring. He'd sat down again quickly, missing the toppled chair and instead finding the floor. His friends had helped him up and taken him to bed.

Perhaps that hadn't been a very good idea, but they'd had his best interest in mind.

- - - - - -

**Many Thanks** to Suzuki-chan, Silverthreads, kip, and Katie for reviewing my fic. Woo hoo! Regular readers! :: dies and goes to heaven, then realizes that she can't update fic from heaven and gets reincarnated:: Since I went through this (god-awful) week at school without updating, I'll do my best to get another chapter up this weekend. : )

**Shameless Plug: **If you like the Snape parts of this fic, especially Snape's confession to Pomfrey from last chapter, you should read "The Furnace." If you're feeling really nice, you can read my poem "Underwater." (If you notice discrepancies between what Severus tells Poppy and what actually happens… think about whether you would have told her the whole truth…)


	5. Ch5: Explanations, Returns, and Potions

**A/N:** Woo hoo!!!! This point marks new ground in this fic – back when I wrote the original version (before OotP came along and shot a big canon-ball through my plot), the last words posted were "but they had his best interest in mind." And that was the end of the old chapter 6! This is new stuff, baby!

Up From the Dust

Chapter 5

Explanations, Returns, and Potions

Harry Potter entered the Great Hall hesitantly. He had spent the morning in Dumbledore's office, uncomfortably relating the events of the previous night. All around him, students chattered loudly, but only a few Gryffindors looked over at the green-eyed seventeen-year-old entering the hall.

Relieved that his already questionable reputation as "crazy" hadn't been further damaged by his little outburst the previous night, Harry headed toward the Gryffindor table, where Ron and Hermione were chattering happily.

Walking behind them, Harry quietly made his way to his two best friends, waiting for the perfect moment to announce himself. It came soon enough: Hermione whispered something to Ron and both looked over to the staff table, giggling.

"HI!"

Ron responded by throwing his spoon into the air; it landed on the floor on the other side of the table. Hermione sat bolt upright, then both jumped up and hugged Harry like he had just come back from the dead.

"Harry!" cried Hermione, a grin spreading over her face. "You're all right!"

"Yeah," said Harry, taking the offered seat between the two. "Madam Pomfrey couldn't find anything wrong with me, so she had to let me go. Besides, I'm fine, except for the fact that I feel like a complete idiot. Did I really wake up all of Gryffindor Tower?"

"Well, not everyone. Maybe half. Or three-quarters," said Ron, smiling. Then, more soberly, and in a quieter voice: "What happened, Harry? We were really worried about you."

The carefree look vanished from Harry's face. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that," he said, suddenly looking tired. "But I suppose I'd be telling you anyway."

Harry quickly filled his friends in on the visions he'd had last night. "It was awful!" he exclaimed. "Who would kill their own parents?"

"You-Know-Who did," said Ron quietly.

"Well," said Harry, "I recognized her. She's the one who came in here on Saturday and cursed us all. And…" He trailed off, looking down at the table.

"What is it? You know you can tell us anything," said Hermione.

Harry ushered them closer, so that their heads were practically touching.

"Last night, I saw Voldemort-" Ron winced at the name, "performing some kind of ritual with the same woman. A…" he squirmed a bit. "A _sexual_ ritual. I saw the whole thing… they were back in the cemetery where he was resurrected, inside a ring of fire, with all the Death Eaters surrounding the circle. There was a lot of Dark magic in the air… I guess that's why my scar was hurting me so much."

Hermione looked like she had just been handed an extra research project: it was almost possible to hear the gears turning in her head. She frowned in thought for a moment, then looked up at the two boys.

"For it to have such an effect on you, it would have had to be some very powerful magic, Harry. You said that you saw her reborn, and that she killed an American witch named Monica and her husband. I'm willing to bet the date of her birth is sometime during our fifth year, and that their deaths are listed in the American government's records. It seems that she and… You-Know-Who… performed a Simul Mortis curse."

Ron and Harry shot blank looks at their bookish friend.

"Honestly! We spent a whole class on them in Defense Against the Dark Arts last year!"

The blank looks continued.

Hermione sighed. "The Simul Mortis curse is a Dark spell that causes the victim to die at the same moment as the caster, no matter what the cause. It is usually used when a witch or wizard feels that another person wants to kill them; it's a type of pre-emptive strike, you see."

Ron and Harry were silent.

"Because if someone casts the curse on you, killing them would be suicide."

"Oh," said the boys in unison.

"Anyway," continued Hermione, "It looks like this woman had the spell cast on her by You-Know-Who and was reduced to the same non-corporeal form as he was when he fell in 1981. I suppose it could be seen as some type of loyalty, to volunteer to have him cast the curse on you."

Harry was silent, the pieces of his visions and the events of Saturday falling into place. After a few seconds, he spoke.

"She was really powerful… I don't think many people could have survived that ritual. You don't think she's some kind of female Voldemort, do you?"

Hermione looked slightly ill at the prospect. "I surely hope not, Harry."

Just then, a loud slam from the direction of the students' entrance echoed throughout the Great Hall. Ron, Harry and Hermione turned their heads just in time to see an irate Professor Snape push the doors open hard enough for them to slam against the walls on either side of the entrance. He strode through the hall, looking extremely harassed, marching between the student tables with enough speed to send his black cloak and hair flying behind him.

He stopped in front of the staff table long enough to say something to the Headmaster. Dumbledore nodded and stood, walking toward the staff entrance to the hall. Snape grabbed the older man's untouched coffee cup and followed him out.

"Wonder what that was all about?" asked Ron, taking a bite of his half-finished lunch. "He looks like he'll be fun in Potions this afternoon."

"Maybe Professor Flitwick will teach it again," said Harry, looking hopeful but doubtful.

Hermione was the only one of the three, and perhaps the entire Gryffindor table, who wasn't extremely unhappy with Snape's reappearance.

"At least he looks healthy," she said. After all, Snape's last exit from the Great Hall had been under much worse circumstances.

- - - -

"I swear, if I have to hear how wonderful their son is, or how damned expensive their mansion is, or how loyal to the Dark Lord they are _one more time_…. I'll KILL one of them!"

Somewhere inside, Severus Snape was enjoying the opportunity to have a good tirade in Albus Dumbledore's office, although for the moment fury was clouding that enjoyment. In the past three days he'd been cursed, thrown into a wall at thirty miles per hour, humiliated in front of Madam Pomfrey, forced to take a Dizziness potion, exposed to more Dark magic than was necessarily healthy, threatened by Lucius Malfoy, locked in a bedroom by Lucius Malfoy, and subjected to over an hour of bragging by Lucius Malfoy _and_ his snotty wife. The fact that the only thing that could remotely be classified as "food" he'd had that day was six or seven cups of coffee wasn't making him any calmer, and he swept around the office at breakneck speed, robes swirling around him.

"Severus, you are making me dizzy. Sit down and tell me what happened."

Abruptly, Snape plunked into the chair across the desk from Dumbledore, propping his elbows on his knees and his chin on his fists. His slouch was uncharacteristic.

"You know, Severus, we were very worried about you when you left last night. Poppy says she heard you summoning your mask on the way out of the Hospital Wing, and a hastily scribbled note sent from Malfoy Manor of all places… well, it wasn't exactly reassuring." Severus belatedly recognized the look on Dumbledore's face: the old man had probably gotten less sleep than Severus the night before.

If one of his students had been present, he or she would have been truly amazed at the immediate change in their Potions master. Chastised by Dumbledore's mild but worry-laden words, the usually cruelly confident and upright man squirmed uncomfortably and began examining the suddenly interesting contours of his fingernails.

"I'm sorry, Albus," said Snape, sounding agitated. "I had a very brief window of opportunity! You know that I was as good as exposed as a spy by my behavior on Saturday – that's why you had Poppy try to keep me here. But you know as well as I do that you've never been able to get another spy within the Death Eaters!" Abandoning his fingernails, he sprang up out of his chair to resume pacing.

"Besides, it was a good thing I went," he continued. "Upon arriving at the meeting last night I was confronted with a most unpleasant discovery." His robes swirled and his boots clicked loudly on the floor as he spun around and began walking from the window to the other end of the office.

"The Dark Lord and… my wife performed a very ancient Dark ritual last night, Albus. I'm sure it will come as no surprise that she's no longer the virginal ice princess I lived with for two years." His bitter grimace was accompanied by the swishing sound of his robes as he turned around and paced back to the other end of the room.

"The rest of the Death Eaters were present as well. I suppose the Dark Lord was leeching the magic from them in order to complete the ritual. I assume he wants to conceive an heir.

"I dragged Malfoy away from the circle with little difficulty. It seems that my… colleagues have been instructed to capture me and bring me to the Dark Lord." Snape halted in front of Dumbledore's desk, leaning over the structure to look at the Headmaster directly.

"I convinced Malfoy, the jealous fool, that I was still loyal, and that I had been protecting my position as a spy. He's always been the Dark Lord's lapdog. I should be safely back within the fold in a few days, once Lucius has had a chance to talk to the Dark Lord."

Dumbledore looked extremely skeptical. _Talk?_ To _Voldemort_?

"I'll be able to find out their plans for the heir. A child conceived during such a ritual will no doubt be even more powerful than either parent, Albus. We need to keep our eyes open."

The old man sighed. "Severus, I'm well aware of the importance of your position. During the past two and a half years, you've undoubtedly saved many lives… I'd just prefer to preserve yours as well."

"I'll try to remain breathing as long as possible," replied Snape, deadpan. In as much time as it took for him to utter that sentence, he was gone, leaving only a slight breeze from the slamming of the door.

- - - -

Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the Potions classroom to be met with mild disapproval from, of all people, Madam Pomfrey. A quick glance at the clock told them that they were three minutes late to Advanced Potions and Madam Pomfrey had already begun outlining Snape's lesson for the day. The seventh-year Slytherins snickered quietly, only to be given a stern look from the non-partisan Pomfrey, a former Hufflepuff.

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," muttered the three, as they made their way sheepishly to their seats. They had been so engrossed in their lunchtime conversation that they had lost track of time, barely managing to run back to their dormitories and grab their Potions supplies before racing down to the dungeons, trailing a cackling Peeves and earning a disapproving shout from Filch as they flew past him.

A brief look of concern passed over Pomfrey's face as she looked at Harry, but it was quickly replaced with one of stern practicality. She skimmed over Snape's lesson plans, held in front of her, as she started her introduction again.

It was clear from her manner that she had been dragged down to the dungeons as a substitute at the very last minute; Snape had probably been scheduled to teach his own class before he'd disappeared the night before, and it was doubtful that Madam Pomfrey had even read the lesson plan beforehand.

"As I was saying, we will be continuing the work you started with Professors Snape and Flitwick. First, we will continue to brew the antidote you began yesterday. Once everyone's cauldron has reached the next extended simmering phase, I will…"

At this, she abruptly broke off, staring a bit disconcertedly at the sheet of parchment in front of her. She definitely hadn't read the lesson plan beforehand.

"Well… before everyone starts, I'll go find some mice for the demonstration that Professor Snape has planned." This brought about a few interested looks, residing mostly on the faces of the Slytherins, Ravenclaws, and Hermione, of course.

"Please don't begin until I've returned," said Madam Pomfrey, walking toward the exit. A second after she left, the sound of bodies colliding carried into the classroom, closely followed by a grunt and the sound of glassware clunking, but not breaking, on the floor.

"Poppy!" said the unmistakably sour voice of Hogwarts's genuine Potions professor. "Do you need to be reeducated on the topic of looking in front of you when you walk?"

"Hardly," came the reply from Madam Pomfrey. "If I'm not mistaken, you were looking at the flask in your hand when I came into your path."

Snape snorted. There was a rustling in the hallway as the professor and the mediwitch returned to their feet.

"Well," said Madam Pomfrey, "At least you're looking healthy, if not less unpleasant."

"I wasn't aware that a pink aura of happiness was a prerequisite for the job. Running away from the Gryffindor brats, are you?"

"Of course not! I mean- none of the students are brats, Severus!" Madam Pomfrey was beginning to sound flustered. "I was on my way to fetch some mice for the monstrous demonstration you had planned for this class!"

"I've been doing this demonstration for over ten years, Poppy, and you've never had to treat a student as a result of it. Kindly refrain from sticking your overprotective nose into my lesson plans if you do not intend to adhere to them."

"Hmph!" Madam Pomfrey's footsteps receded down the hallway.

The eavesdropping students rapidly straightened and looked toward the front of the classroom as Professor Snape swept into the room, looking only fractionally less annoyed than he had upon entering the Great Hall earlier. He carried a large, corked flask with what looked like several ounces of ink in it, and there was the unmistakable glint of a gold band on his left ring finger.

Harry leaned over to whisper to Hermione.

"Since when has Snape worn a wedding ring?"

"Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for your insipid gossiping! Now if you are finished conveying to your contemporaries whatever incredibly important piece of information you felt couldn't wait until after class, kindly face the front of the classroom and pay attention!"

"But- sir! You haven't even started the lesson!"

"Ten more for your insolence!" As if to emphasize the point, Snape banged the flask on the desk. The inky liquid sloshed within, further coating the sides of the undoubtedly shatterproof container.

Harry and his friends snapped to attention.

- - - -

The lesson passed under a blanket of tense silence. At the slightest sound of a voice that he had not authorized to speak, Severus would summarily remove points from that individual. Although the Slytherin students were usually less cautious than the members of the other houses, by the time every student's cauldron was placidly simmering the combined point deficit of all four houses was approaching one hundred fifty, with nearly fifty coming from the irate Professor's own house.

Finally, Severus broke the silence. All it took was a short clearing of the throat on the part of Snape to cause half the class to jump. He stalked forward from the rear of the room, where he had been indulging his sadistic side by hovering over a shy Hufflepuff for nearly five minutes, waiting for the poor, intimidated teenager to make an error.

So far, the day had not been friendly to Severus Snape. In addition to being harassed by Lucius Malfoy and subtly guilt-tripped by Albus Dumbledore, he had, upon making his way to this particular Potions class, remembered that his wife's return from death had once again made him a married man. The ring that he'd fished from the bottom of a box that had been purposefully buried under a dozen others in the very back of his closet now felt like a lead manacle as it sat, supposedly innocently, on his left ring finger.

His self-consciousness at wearing such a noticeable reminder of his past and present ties, mixed with the annoyance, worry, and stress he'd been feeling in various degrees for the last few days, was making him extremely unfriendly. For a man for whom "friendly" meant "not overtly insulting," that was saying a lot.

At least he could take some sadistic pleasure in today's "demonstration." After all, it was not every day that one got to poison a lot of insolent students with impunity.

"I doubt that any of you really appreciates the true beauty of the specialized poison antidotes you will be working on for the next several classes. However, I do believe that you will be quite interested in the more vulgar, yet apparently more powerful workings of a generalized antidote you've probably forgotten my mention of from your first year."

He waved the flask to emphasize his point.

"Does anyone know what is in this?" he asked contemptuously. Hermione Granger's hand shot into the air, all alone.

"Anyone?" asked Severus, purposefully ignoring Granger. "Mister Malfoy?"

"It looks like watered-down ink, sir," said Malfoy with a smirk. The little brat assumed that Snape wouldn't dare criticize him.

"Mister Malfoy. If you believe that the substance in this flask is ink, I invite you to take a drink from your inkwell after I poison you."

A murmur went through the classroom.

"Does anyone else have a theory?" He sighed as the lone hand began to wave back and forth. "Miss Granger?"

"It's the Bezoar Restorative Draught, used to cure most poisons, even those that would otherwise be deadly," she recited.

"Precisely. I see that you've been sacrificing your social life for books again." He ignored Granger's indignant expression and continued. "Yes, this is indeed the Bezoar Restorative Draught, and I will be demonstrating its effectiveness today by giving each of you a different poison, as well as a dose of the restorative."

The murmur began to take on a mutinous sound. It wasn't improving the Potions Master's mood.

"Silence!" Severus snapped. "Not only do I have the permission of the Headmaster to undertake this little exercise… but I will also be taking part in the demonstration." He began pulling small vials out of his interior pockets, each labeled in careful writing. The last vial, containing a liquid that looked unnervingly like blood, he placed far from the others. "The poison I will personally be demonstrating is ordinarily lethal. The others vary in annoyance, but should anyone decide to imbibe ink instead, he or she will merely spend the evening with Madam Pomfrey."

Severus handed out the vials, one to each student. He gave an emetic to Potter, a blindness-inducing poison to Granger, and a paralytic to Weasley. He gave Malfoy a particularly nasty disfiguring potion. In the vial on his desk sat a powerful bleeding draught with which he intended to thoroughly disturb the class. He then distributed small cups of the restorative potion.

Although Severus would be unlikely to admit it, he did posses a certain penchant for dramatics. As he uncorked the poison on his desk and held it out in front of him, the entire class watched with morbid fascination.

_Perhaps I will take Poppy's advice after all,_ he thought, transfiguring, with well-disguised effort, a spare quill from his desk into a small gray mouse. He held the mouse in his left hand, while his right dangled the red poison in front of his students.

"This," he said smoothly, "is Tobt's Bleeding Draught." One of the Ravenclaws whispered to her neighbor.

"…Also known by its more vulgar nickname of 'Tobt's Toilet-Paper Tipple.' Five points from Ravenclaw for your tittering, Brocklehurst. Within fifteen minutes of consumption, the drinker dies from massive bleeding, caused by vascular breakdown and a trademark weakening of the skin. Our little friend here," he sneered at the mouse in his hand, "shall serve to demonstrate the potion's lethality."

Using a medicine dropper procured from a desk drawer, Severus fed the unsuspecting creature a tiny amount of the poison and placed it on his desk. Most of the students looked either horrified or scandalized by his treatment of the newly alive, soon-to-be-dead creature. Several others, however, looked quite interested. Granger's face seemed to hover in between.

The mouse scurried about for a minute before becoming lethargic and lying down. It took two more minutes before its rapid, tiny pulse and breathing halted.

"It is less effective on human beings, therefore increasing the time between consumption and death. However, I assure you that it is just as deadly to me as it is to our departed mouse." The silence of the room, as well as the demonstration, was somewhat improving Severus's mood. Smirking inwardly, he swallowed the contents of the vial. Several of his Slytherin students gasped. He began to pace in front of his desk, lecturing as he went.

"Let me remind you, that the sooner you take the restorative, the less damage the poison will do to you. A bezoar will only cure poison; it _will not_ repair damage."

A whispering sound from the front row interrupted Severus's speech. He could guess the source.

"Malfoy!" he snapped, slamming his hand down on the boy's table. The motion split the skin of his hand in several places, leaving a bloody handprint in front of Malfoy.

Snape held his bloody hand palm-up in front of Malfoy. "Is _that_ going to go away when I take the restorative?" he asked threateningly. Malfoy had the good sense to look threatened.

"No sir," he said quietly.

"At least you've been paying attention to something," he growled, hurriedly downing his portion of the antidote. He turned his attention to the rest of the class.

"I would advise all of you to drink the restorative shortly after the poison, unless you feel like a trip the infirmary."

- - - -

"It's faded."

Juliette's voice was not pleased as she stared into the mirror. It had been more than a week since the dark ritual, and a glimpse at her reflection affirmed that the last traces of her inhuman looks had faded the night before. The face that stared back at her once again carried the pink blush of life, and her eyes had faded to brown. She again looked like a human woman and not a dark goddess.

"Of course, Juliette. All of the Dark magic that allowed your appearance to change has been taken up by the child."

The cruel face of Voldemort could be seen behind Juliette's reflection. They stood in a well-furnished bedroom on the third floor of a large home that had previously belonged to a family of rich Muggles. She turned to face him, putting her plain, human reflection behind herself.

"I can't do somatic magic either. Not even a simple levitation spell."

"You will find that, although you do not have the powers you were granted that night, you have been strengthened nonetheless. Your wandless skills have been greatly magnified… as have my own."

"Thank you, my lord," she intoned. Her dismay was palpable.

"You will receive more, faithful one. Now more than ever, we need Harry Potter. His body will bring our child unimaginable power."

Juliette practically jumped up at the prospect. "I will-"

"I think not," interrupted Voldemort. "I already have a plan for the procurement of the boy. Malfoy!"

The door opened and in walked Lucius Malfoy. The smugness practically radiated off of him. He bowed deeply to the Dark Lord and his Sorceress.

"Lucius will retrieve the boy. We will take his life on the New Moon, in four days."

"Yes, my lord."

Voldemort nodded at her and left, trailing a nearly smirking Malfoy. There would be no gathering tonight: not until Voldemort had found another suitable meeting-place.

Juliette turned back to the mirror. Her whispered "_annihilate_!" shattered the glass, bringing down a cascade of shards. Each piece reflected its own human woman, and Juliette stormed out of the room, leaving the thousand images of herself to their own devices.

**A/N #2: THANKS** again to ShadowedHand, Suzuki-chan, and Silverthreads for reviewing!! You really motivate me to proofread and update quickly, I really appreciate it. : )


	6. Ch6: Two Betrayals and Two Prisoners

**A/N:** Every time I say "I'll be getting a couple of new chapters up in a short period of time," ff dot net decides to come crashing down. Boo. Shall I jinx myself again and say I'll get the next chapter up by Wednesday? Shall I? Let's just say it's implied… Onward!

**Up From the Dust**

**Chapter 6: Two Betrayals and Two Prisoners**

The 16th of October was not a pleasant day for Severus Snape. First, he had woken at two in the morning and had been unable to fall back asleep. Four hours of prowling through the hallways had yielded not a single student from whom he could dock points, and at one point, Peeves had decided to follow him, spouting insipid nonsense for nearly half an hour before deciding to go sabotage some of the girls' toilets. Having seen that the aforementioned toilets were closest to Gryffindor Tower, Snape had gladly let the ghost go.

After breakfast, Albus had pulled him aside to mention that all of his first- to third-year students should be taught to make the Bezoar Restorative Draught in order to have a supply with them.

Many of the students' parents believed that their children needed a means of protecting themselves against poisoning. They were right, in a way; the number of Death Eater poisonings had been on the rise for quite some time. Some parents had begun to send their children to school wearing tiny vials of the potion on chains around their necks; apparently Dumbledore had picked up on the idea. Severus wouldn't have been surprised to find out that Albus had been bullied into the idea by Molly Weasley.

Arguing that an entire class was not necessary to teach the Bezoar Restorative was futile. The fact that the entire process consisted of boiling water, adding a bezoar, and waiting for the potion to boil down for strength had fallen on Dumbledore's selectively deaf ears.

Severus scowled to himself. That morning, a second-year Hufflepuff had somehow managed to cause an explosion in class, and he, Snape, and seven other students had had to report to Madam Pomfrey for burn treatment. Later, the third-year Slytherin-Ravenclaw class had finished ahead of schedule, and he had been forced to _let them go early_.

Now, before his third class of Boil, Add Bezoar, and Wait, Severus was pacing his office, pondering unpleasantly.

He hated teaching the same thing over and over, and tomorrow he would have to do it three more times! The thought made him grind his teeth; it didn't help that the Wait step was extremely conducive to conversation, or that Albus's little idea put him a lesson behind in half of his classes.

He also hated having to go to Poppy for those stupid potion burns. Unfortunately, his own stores of burn-healing potion had run out, and he'd had to sit an on uncomfortable bed in front of eight second-years while Madam Pomfrey swabbed his face and neck with a potion that felt like stinging, liquid ice. He hadn't let Poppy near his left hand, afraid that one of the students would see the pale Dark Mark on his forearm if he were required to roll up his sleeve. His hand was still burned as a result.

What he hated most, however, was the wedding ring he had been wearing for over a week. The ring felt like a lead weight, and every time he caught a glimpse of his left hand, he was tempted to simply jump off of the nearest tower. He was tied to _her_, and there was no way out. Wizarding marriages were binding; death was the usual release from an unhappy one, and divorces were rare. Severus knew that infidelity was an acceptable reason for divorce, but if Lucius had done his job right, he would have to stay married to avoid the irrational Juliette's wrath. The thought was enough to turn his heart to ice.

Severus was wallowing in his office when the flames in his fireplace turned green and the head of Lucius Malfoy came into being in their center.

"Severus! How is it going, old friend?"

"Piss off, Malfoy."

"Temper, temper, Severus. You owe me a favor after what I've done for you. I'll be sure to think of a nice one." Severus could hear the smirk in his voice. _He's probably rubbing his hands together in glee_, he thought.

"Very good, Malfoy. Now if you mind-" he reached for his wand, ready to extinguish the flames and cut off the arrogant Death Eater before he could ask.

"I'm not quite finished, Severus." _Damn._

"I want to visit my son. Meet me in the Forest in ten minutes."

"Very well," grumbled Severus. Waving the fire out of existence, he put on his cloak and headed out.

- - - -

"As you can see, the phases of the moon have quite an impact on many magical creatures and part-humans. However, they also control the ebb and flow of magic itself."

Professor Sinistra pointed her wand at the chart in the front of the class, gesturing to the darkest circle of many: the New Moon, two nights away. "What effect does the New Moon have on the essence of magic? Hermione?"

"The New Moon encourages a finer control of magic, allowing detailed rituals and very difficult, newer spells to be performed under its influence, unlike the Full Moon, which allows wilder, older magics to be used, such as those involved in the werewolf transformation."

"Very good. Can anyone give me an example of a spell that would be strengthened by the New Moon?"

Draco Malfoy raised his hand, only to be interrupted by a loud knock at the door. It swung open before Sinistra could even say "come in," admitting the tall form of Draco's father.

"I need to speak with my son, for a moment, professor… Sinistra, isn't it?" He looked down at the witch with condescension, and she clenched her jaw to prevent herself from saying anything. He knew very well what her name was.

"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she said, wishing she didn't have to let this snotty man do just that, or even better, that he had never weaseled his way out of Azkaban in the first place Without a word, Draco left his seat and stepped out of the classroom.

"Well," the professor continued, looking over her mixed Gryffindor-Slytherin class, "Does anyone else have any ideas as to magics that would be strengthened by the New Moon?"

The door opened again, and Draco Malfoy returned to his seat. Slightly annoyed, Sinistra repeated her question for a third time. Draco's hand returned to its raised position.

"Mister Malfoy?"

"The Animagus transformation, transfigurations, and fine-tuned controlling spells," he said. His voice was slightly dull, as if he had been given some bad news. Sinistra tried not to be happy about that.

- - - -

"He was gone for about a minute. His father was probably giving him something illegal." Ron Weasley's voice was slightly muffled by the food that was in it as he turned to speak to Harry.

"It did seem odd," added Hermione from the other side of the table. "But I was glad enough to be rid of him for that long."

"Definitely," said Harry from next to Ron. "He was such a jerk in Potions."

"Isn't he always?" asked Ron.

"More so now that Professor Snape's been in such a bad mood."

"Snape's always in a bad mood, Harry."

"He's been worse lately. Haven't you noticed? He took thirty points just from me yesterday, and today he looked ready to kill-"

Harry was interrupted by the sudden scowl that Hermione shot over his shoulder. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked.

- - - -

Severus, unfortunately, did not see the entire exchange. He had his head turned toward the Headmaster when a shout rang out across the hall, its origin at the center of the Gryffindor table. He looked up to see Ron Weasley holding Draco Malfoy's arms behind his back; Hermione Granger had just climbed over the table to see to Harry Potter, who had fallen onto the floor. Potter was unconscious, and his left shoulder was bleeding. The girl was flinging healing spells at him, but none seemed to work. Malfoy seemed limp in Weasley's hold. Severus saw a flash of silver as a knife dropped from his numb hands.

Severus was running between the tables before he knew it. He scooped the knife up and looked at it; the blade had a purple tinge to it in addition to the red of Potter's blood. Poison.

Briefly, he met Malfoy's eyes. The disbelief that registered there was tangible. He looked from Severus, to the knife, to Potter on the floor, and back. His knees buckled and Weasley dragged him back, dumping him on the floor and rushing over to his best friend.

Potter's still form was beginning to shimmer, and Severus's hand was going numb. With dawning horror, he realized that the poison was seeping through the burned skin of his left hand. The numbness was swiftly traveling up his arm; already he had no sensation up to his shoulder. A wave of disorientation passed over him; the world seemed to be moving far too slowly.

Albus was there, but he couldn't hear him talking.

He registered the sensation of the floor underneath him; he was on his knees.

Around him, people were shouting silently. Potter was gone. The knife slipped from his fingers but did not hit the ground.

The numbness reached his chest. The Great Hall seemed so far away. Whether he passed out or disappeared first, Severus would never know. All he saw was the blackness closing in.

- - - -

For the third time since the start of the month, Severus woke to unfamiliar surroundings. This was, however, the first time those surroundings had been quite so uncomfortable.

Sitting up, Severus took in his environment as well as he could, considering the darkness. From what he could tell, he was in a large, windowless basement. The floor was concrete, the air was cold, and both were damp. He had been stripped of his outer cloak and robes; upon reaching for his pocket he found that his wand was gone and that his wrists were chained to the wall.

The skin of his left hand was raw. He had no idea where he was. He was freezing. He was unarmed. He was-

"An idiot. A goddamned idiot." How could he have been so stupid as to pick up the knife?

From his left side came a low moan, followed by a slurred "Where?" Five feet away, chained, unarmed, and underdressed, slumped a lethargic Harry Potter.

Severus bit back a sarcastic comment and responded with a simple "I don't know."

He sighed, then scooted closer to the boy, dragging the chains behind him. Potter looked disoriented, but otherwise intact. He had managed to pull himself into a sitting position and was now leaning against the cinderblock wall, his head tilted back at what seemed to be a very uncomfortable angle. He was wearing nothing more than a thin shirt and pair of pants.

Snape turned Potter around to look at his back, being careful to handle him just above the elbows. There was no resistance on Potter's part as Severus did his best to examine him in the dim light. There was a noticeable tear in his shirt around his left shoulder blade, but no wound. Apparently he had been healed before being brought here.

Potter coughed. "Professor Snape?" he asked, as if first noticing that he was there. Blinking the dazed look from his eyes, Harry returned to his former position at the wall.

"Actually, Potter, I was thoroughly convinced that I was Madam Hooch." Severus's voice held no trace of humor.

Potter sighed into the darkness. "I don't suppose I should ask what happened?"

"You were stabbed with a poisoned knife, then healed. I made the mistake of handling the knife; the potion used on the blade was most likely of the Summoning sort, and linked to whoever brought us here." As he spoke, Severus stood and began to walk along the wall away from Potter, searching for a weak spot or hidden doorway. The Alohamora charm was quite simple: if he found a door, it could be possible for him to open it without a wand.

He didn't mention that Summoning potions were extremely difficult to prepare correctly, and the one that had been used on himself and Potter was probably one he had made himself. Like the Polyjuice potion, many Summoning potions could be made to match a specific person after they had been brewed.

Harry was silent as his professor traced the wall; then he too stood and began to search for a way out. The sound of chains being pulled taut told him that Snape had reached the end of his tether; a few moments later, Harry was also at his limit. Both stood roughly ten feet from the common anchoring point of their chains; neither had reached a corner.

"The door must be too far for us to reach with these chains," said Harry, walking back to the place where he had awoken and taking an uncomfortable seat on the damp floor.

"How marvelously astute," hissed Snape, who remained standing.

"You don't have to be so nasty, you know," said Harry crossly. Snape shot a glare at him.

"That comment illustrates your complete lack of experience in a situation such as this. Now if you are going to be useless, do it silently."

"I searched my side of the wall!" cried Harry defensively. In response, Snape stepped past him and proceeded to double-check Harry's work.

"How very stupid of me to rely on you. It would be fitting to the situation if we were to die because you overlooked a door, Potter."

"You're monstrous!" yelled Harry.

"And you are an insolent little brat who has no idea as to what a priority is!" Snape yelled back.

Harry got to his feet. "I am not insolent! You – you just want respect where it isn't due, Snape!"

"That's _Professor_ Snape!"

"If you hadn't noticed, we aren't at Hogwarts anymore!"

"I'm still in charge here!"

"Then why are you chained to the wall?!"

"You're bloody chained to the wall as well, Potter!" By that time, Harry and Severus were standing mere inches from each other, Harry's face tilted up to make eye contact with his professor. Both had their hands balled into fists and were quite close to spitting in each other's faces.

"You know, I'd rather be locked up with a mad hippogriff than you! At least they have manners!" cried Harry.

"You impudent wretch!"

"You heartless bas-"

Harry's last insult was broken short by the banging sound of a heavy door being thrown open. Light flooded into the basement room from a newly visible doorway, situated far from the two arguing men. In the light, a large sink could be seen near the door, as well as a Muggle clothes washer and dryer, and assorted cleaning supplies. The ceiling was solid; it had pipes running along it and nails protruding from the floor above. Apparently, they were in the basement of a large Muggle home. The sound of slow clapping could be heard from the doorway.

"Well, well…. Arguing like children already. I must say, Mr. Potter, you argue with dear Severus here almost as spiritedly as I've been told you do with my son." Lucius Malfoy stepped through the door, dressed in black robes with red detailing. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the base of his neck, and his wand protruded from a loop on his belt. Lifting the wand, Lucius conjured a metal cage around Harry, cutting him off from the rest of the large room and any chance of escape. Harry's sound of dismay was drowned out by the clanging noise of the bars as they snapped into place.

Snape, still free to walk as far as his chains would let him, moved as close to Malfoy as he could and put on his best annoyed scowl.

"Lucius! Why didn't you get me out of here sooner?"

"You were so entertaining to watch," said Malfoy smoothly, a trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Well, that's all done with now, Malfoy. This is an excellent setup, although I doubt it was your own idea. Having me captured as well means Dumbledore won't suspect my involvement in Potter's disappearance." In the cage behind him, Harry's eyes widened in shock.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" remarked Malfoy, as he stepped up to within arm's length of his fellow Death Eater.

"Yes, yes, now let me out of here."

"You bastard!" yelled Harry from his cell. "You've been on the Dark side all along!"

"Shut up, Potter," said Snape evenly. Turning his attention back to Malfoy, he asked, "What are you going to do with him, anyway?"

"The boy is for use in a life-draining spell to strengthen Our Lord's unborn child. You, on the other hand, are simply an unexpected bonus." Taking a step back, Malfoy pointed his wand at Snape's head. Snape proceeded to do something he rarely did: he opened his mouth and gawked at Malfoy.

"Lucius, you can't possibly believe that-"

"Abscido!" Snape was thrown back and onto the floor as Malfoy's curse glanced off of his forehead. He clapped a hand over the bloody, jagged wound that Malfoy had cut there and glared up at Malfoy as another cage formed around him.

Malfoy looked from Harry to Severus, then threw his head back and laughed. "There! Now you match! How appropriate!" He turned on his heel and left the room, slamming the heavy door behind him and once again leaving Harry Potter and Severus Snape in cold darkness.

**Thanks** to Whisky Lullaby (I tried really hard to anti-Mary Sue Juliette, glad it worked!), Suzuki-chan, Silverthreads (interesting anecdote!), and SiddaBJR for reviewing!


	7. Ch7: The Inside of the Trap

**A/N:** I know it took a while to update… a horrible thing called Real Life has been rearing its ugly head and throwing things like papers and presentations at me. But for those of you who have been waiting patiently, here's a bonus: Not only is this the longest chapter in the story, but there's another one posted right after it. Two for one! Have fun reading!

**Up From the Dust**

**Chapter 7: The Inside of the Trap**

Harry didn't know how long they had sat in silence, but it had to have been hours.

The cells he and Professor Snape currently occupied were roughly seven feet square, with ceilings about six feet high. Harry sat with his back against the bars, staring through the adjoining cell wall at Snape. From the other cell, Professor Snape stared back at him. No words were exchanged between the two, but the animosity in the dark room was tangible. Snape's forehead was no longer bleeding, but his shirt was bloodstained from its use as a towel. His hair was a mess; Harry thought his own probably looked the same.

Well, at least Malfoy hadn't been entirely right; the cut on Snape's head was on the wrong side and looked more like a tree than a lightning bolt. Not to mention it covered a much larger area. There was definitely only one Harry Potter in the room.

The thought wasn't really very comforting, considering the situation.

_This really sucks_, thought Harry. Not only was he most likely doomed, but he was stuck in a dungeon with Professor Snape a few paces away. _It's your fault that he's here_, whispered a traitorous voice at the back of his head. Harry pushed it away.

Harry didn't want to die. He had heard Malfoy, and despite what Snape might think, Harry was not stupid. He had put the pieces together: new moon, life-draining spell, Voldemort, Julia, and the dead American named Monica. He had no desire to be the next victim of what was obviously a very powerful piece of Dark magic.

Of course, escaping would mean he had to cooperate with the man who was just then shooting a look at him that would wilt everything in Greenhouse Five.

_Hell_, thought Harry, _it's better than dying._

"Professor Snape," he said tentatively.

Snape ignored him; he simply placed his right hand on his left and began to spin the ring there.

Harry sighed inwardly, then continued.

"I – um… I'm sorry. For thinking you were on the wrong side." Snape's silence continued, and Harry gritted his teeth. There was no easy way of doing anything with Snape.

"Malfoy was right. We've been acting like children. We should be working together to get out of here, not sitting around doing nothing. We have two days until the new moon…." Harry trailed off, looking toward the shadowed far end of the room where the doorway was hidden. This was getting nowhere. The silence stretched on, and just when Harry was about to try again, Snape's voice cut across the room.

"Aren't you afraid that I'll turn you in to the Death Eaters the second we get out? Go running to my Master and lick his boots? Laugh with Lucius over this little joke? Oh yes, I am so _very_ entertained by this situation. I'm such a masochist, being poisoned and locked in a dungeon are things that I ask for daily. After all, I'm merely here to play mind games with the Boy Who Lived. Once we've killed you and assured certain victory for the Dark side, I'll be off to share a bottle of Old Ogden's with Lucius and rape some Muggles." Snape's voice was as sarcastic and biting as ever, but not nearly as strong-willed, and Harry realized with an unpleasant feeling of shame that he had managed not only to anger and annoy, but to actually insult Professor Snape. He should have known after all of this time, after all of Dumbledore's assurances, the information Snape gave the Order of the Phoenix, Snape's failed attempt to teach Harry Occlumency, and, as few people knew, his frequent trips to the Hospital Wing, that Snape was on their side.

"I – I didn't think, Professor."

"You never think, Potter. What have six years of Hogwarts and more than two years of war taught you? What have I taught you? Nothing."

"That isn't true! I've learned everything I know at Hogwarts. I'd be dead if it wasn't for Hogwarts. Look, Professor, I'm sorry! But we have to get out of here! We can't keep arguing!"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by the sound of the door opening again. Harry looked over into the patch of light to see the Dark witch who had attacked him enter the room, followed by Malfoy and two hulking, masked Death Eaters.

"It's too dark in here. How am I supposed to see anything? LUMOS!" The basement was filled with gray, sourceless light as the witch spoke.

"Dark Lady," came Lucius's voice, "Am I allowed to do anything I please with them?" His eyes glittered as he swept his gaze over Harry and Snape, and his face was flushed with anticipation. It was a close call, but Lucius Malfoy enjoyed torturing people even more than he enjoyed bragging.

"No. The boy is to be untouched. You can do as you wish with the other; I have no use for him."

"Can I kill him?"

"No. The Dark Lord will kill him. Otherwise, you may do whatever you'd like. But for the gods' sake, try something besides the Cruciatus for once!" She stepped forward to Snape's cell.

"Come here, Severus!"

Snape spat at her feet. "Go to hell, Juliette. I'm not your slave."

In response, Juliette cast the Corpus Imperius curse on Snape and forced him to walk to her. He stood rigidly at the threshold of the cell as she waved the bars apart. Juliette turned her attention to Lucius, speaking in a cold, informatory manner. Snape might as well have been a demonstration dummy in an advanced Transfiguration class. "As you see, Malfoy, there are many ways to torture a human being other than the Cruciatus. A Petrifying or Controlling spell keeps the subject from moving about too much, after which you may do whatever you wish."

Lucius pursed his lips, looking put out. He was quite familiar with more than enough forms of physical torture.

"I see you've tried your hand with a Cutting charm – rather childish. Psychological torture works better. Doesn't it, my _dearest_." Snape looked like he very much wanted to say something. "Severus hates being controlled – it's one reason why he was always so good at the Imperius curse… and why I prefer to use this version of the spell instead – it's nearly impossible to fight. And I know you prefer females, Malfoy, but if his refusal to do so in the past is any indication, he fears being raped as well."

At this point, Harry closed his eyes. Being talked over like a piece of meat, having torture methods discussed right on front of him… it was like a surreal nightmare. Professor Snape, raped? It was too much. Harry heard Snape's cell close again and opened his eyes with a start as his professor slammed into the wall. Juliette was leaving, but Lucius and his Death Eaters had stayed behind as the door shut again.

To his surprise, it was Snape who talked first, and his words at first seemed to have little meaning.

"On your own son, Lucius? He's probably going to be expelled for stabbing Potter."

Malfoy shrugged. "He was getting soft. As you seem to have gotten. Really, Severus, now that it's finally out, what were you thinking?"

Snape gave Malfoy a somewhat confused look, then began to laugh, softly at first and then louder. It was disconcerting to see the normally stoic, proud, upright man sitting on the floor in barely any clothes, hair disheveled, face bloody, laughing like a lunatic. His laughs grew in volume and echoed off of the walls, making it seem like a great crowd of Severus Snapes was laughing at Malfoy. Finally, his hysterics tapered off and he looked squarely at Malfoy, the out-of-place smile still on his face.

"You think I just turned? You fool! I've been a spy since I was nineteen years old! I've sabotaged every plan I could get my plans on – I even gave your victims the Draught of Living Death and had them put in hiding! And now I find out that you never suspected… Oh, gods, Lucius, you're an idiot." And Snape began to laugh again, until Harry, sitting silently in his own cell, could not tell if his Potions Professor was really laughing or beginning to cry.

_He's finally snapped_, thought Harry incredulously. _He's gone completely mental_.

"Silence!" roared Lucius. Snape calmed a bit, and Harry could see that no trace of mirth was to be found on Malfoy's face.

"Think that's funny, do you?!!" he roared, his face turning red. "Think it's funny to betray us?!" Malfoy seemed to catch himself, and his voice dropped to a lower tone.

"You'll pay for your treachery, Snape. With your sanity first, and then your life."

- - - -

"Merlin! I hadn't recognized her."

Professor McGonagall stared into the Pensieve with a mixture of horror and amazement. Her expression was reflected in the faces of the other assembled faculty who had met in Dumbledore's office to deal with the latest disaster: namely, the disappearance of a student and faculty member.

On Dumbledore's desk lay a wizarding photograph nearly twenty years old. It held two subjects: a young bride and groom. The beautiful bride wore long white dress robes and a dazzling smile. Every now and then she waved at the onlookers; sometimes she took a mirror out of a hidden pocket and checked her appearance. The groom, none other than an eighteen-year-old Severus Snape, looked sourly at McGonagall, then crossed his arms and directed his gaze away from his wife and onlookers.

Next to the photograph sat a Pensieve. Within it was an image of the woman who had attacked the school. She was undoubtedly the same woman as the one in the photograph.

"You'd hardly be expected to, Minerva, considering the fact that she's been presumed dead for the last sixteen years," said Professor Dumbledore wisely. "Filius?"

"Yes, Albus?" squeaked Professor Flitwick.

"Have you had any luck using a Locating Charm on Harry, Severus, or this woman?"

"I'm sorry, Albus. Heavy wards can easily block a Locating Charm. They could be anywhere." The tiny professor seemed even smaller than usual as he said the words.

"Has anyone else found anything?" A murmur of negative comments filled the room. For once, even Professor Trelawney wasn't making a prediction.

Dumbledore sighed, then straightened up. "Continue trying. Professor Vector – how is Slytherin House holding up?"

Vector, the acting head of Slytherin House, spoke up. "The students are all considerably shaken – It's not every day that one's Head of House simply vanishes into thin air – especially at the hands of another student."

"How is Mister Malfoy, anyway?"

"He's still in the hospital wing," said Madam Pomfrey. "He won't say a word to me or anyone else."

"I have a feeling that he knows no more than we do," said the Headmaster. "Leave him alone for now. Continue searching, and report to me if you find anything."

- - - -

"Ow! Ron, watch out!" hissed Hermione as her much larger best friend stepped on her foot for what seemed to be the fiftieth time.

"Sorry, Hermione. I can't see my feet under this bloody cloak, you know!" came the whispered reply. It was close to midnight and two seemingly disembodied voices traveled slowly through the darkened passages of Hogwarts.

"We should just be lucky that Harry didn't lock his trunk. This would be even more difficult if we had to duck behind a suit of armor every time Peeves went by!"

"You have a point there."

Quietly, the two friends opened the door to the library and crept in. Inside, a pair of floating heads appeared, followed closely by their bodies and a pair of lanterns. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley hadn't considered donning their pajamas that night; even the thought of sleeping seemed sinful in light of their best friend's disappearance.

Hermione made a beeline for the Restricted Section, trailing Ron. Inside, she set her lantern down and turned to face him.

"We'll both look in different sections of the Restricted Section and then meet back here," she said. "There has to be something the professors have missed."

Ron looked doubtful. "Are you sure books are our best bet, Hermione? Wouldn't the professors know anything we find already? They've been researching spells all day!"

Classes had been cancelled since the incident at lunchtime in order for the faculty to concentrate their efforts on finding Harry and Professor Snape. In a way it was ironic: Professor Snape would have been furious if he had known that the school was altering its schedule for the sake of the Boy Who Lived.

Hermione gave Ron one of her unnerving "I can't believe you just said something that stupid" looks. "Ron," she said slowly.

"Yes, Hermione?"

"Hogwarts is home to a collection of some of the most talented witches and wizards in the country."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure there isn't an answer to be found that one of the professors here hasn't discovered or won't find without our help."

Ron gave her a blank look.

"However, a particular magical field is currently a bit underrepresented at Hogwarts."

Ron continued to give her a blank look. Hermione's face began to turn red.

"For God's sake, Ron! Professor SNAPE's missing! There's nobody researching an answer for this in potions!" The stress was getting to Hermione. Her best friend and a professor were missing, she hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep in the last week, and Ron refused to make the tiniest jumps of logic without being talked through step-by-step. Eyes flashing, Hermione threw her hands into the air, her bushier-than-usual hair flying with the sudden movement. She glared at her red-haired friend.

_You know, she looks a lot like Professor Snape_, thought Ron.

He voiced the thought.

Hermione burst into tears.

Ron wasted only a few seconds looking shocked before wrapping his distraught friend into a tight hug. "I didn't mean it like that, Hermione, you know it," he said softly, patting her fluffy head. "Hey, you know I'm slow… I'm sorry you have to spell everything out for me." Hermione sniffled into the front of Ron's now slightly damp robes. "Come on, your hair's far too unruly for you to be Professor Snape." Hermione snorted. "And you're too short. And your teeth are too white." A muffled giggle arose from the vicinity of his chest, followed by another sniffle. Hermione raised her head and looked up at Ron.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said. "I didn't mean to snap at you."

"It's OK, Hermione."

"We can do this, Ron." Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve. Picking up her lantern, she straightened up. "You go find Moste Potente Potions. I'll look for something else. There has to be something the professors have missed."

- - - -

The morning of Friday, October 17th saw Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger fast asleep on the floor of the library's restricted section.

- - - -

If the night had been at all productive for Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, it certainly hadn't been for Harry Potter and Severus Snape. After receiving another round of scathing remarks at his second and third attempts to reason with Snape, Harry had given up. The professor was too tall to stand in his cell and for that reason gave up pacing relatively quickly; after that, the two had simply sat in silence. After what had to be hours, Harry lay down on the cold floor and fell asleep.

Harry woke to the same near-darkness he had become accustomed to the previous night. Briefly, he wondered where they could possibly be: he doubted Lucius Malfoy was stupid enough to keep them in his own manor, or that he would own a washing machine.

A small sound caused Harry to look in Professor Snape's direction. The man was asleep on his back next to the wall, his left arm flung out away from his body. The Dark Mark, faded as it was, still stood out against the Potions Master's pale forearm. Snape's dark hair fell in tangles over a stubbly face that was surprisingly calm in sleep, despite its perpetual scowl in wakefulness. In spite of the feelings of animosity he usually had for the man, Harry couldn't help feeling bad for Snape as he lay on the damp, hard floor. Even asleep, he looked as cold as Harry felt, and it was because of Harry that Snape was there.

As Harry watched, Snape muttered something unintelligible and rolled onto his side. A minute later, he rolled back. The process repeated itself for at least ten minutes.

Harry was beginning to wonder if he should wake the restless sleeper when Snape's eyes opened suddenly. The professor sat up abruptly, then noticed Harry. The scowl returned to his face in record time; perhaps its previous absence had simply been a figment of Harry's imagination.

"Um… good morning, professor," Harry said lamely.

"You don't know if it is morning or not, Potter, and it certainly isn't good," replied Snape. He seated himself against the wall with his knees bent and slightly apart, his long arms draped over them and his head against the wall. He turned his head so that he was facing his student and fellow prisoner.

Harry frowned at him. "We have to get out of here."

"By all means, Potter, feel free to use the invisible trapdoor conveniently located in your cell. It would be such a pity to pose an inconvenience to the Boy Who Lived."

"How can you possibly be so sarcastic thirty seconds after waking up? I would have thought even you go through some period of humanity before you warm up for the day." Sleeping on a concrete floor had not made Harry any more careful in his choice of words.

Snape opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He turned to look out into the darkness of the room. "I'm just as human as you are, despite what you would like to believe." He paused. "You're-" he nearly choked the words out – "right, Potter. We need to get out of here. Malfoy will probably be back soon. He never did have any creativity when it came to torture – I'm sure my sanity will be intact when he's through with me, no matter what he thinks." Snape said these last words with a cold practicality that made Harry shudder.

"What are we going to do?"

"_I_ will try to reason with Malfoy. _You_ will keep your mouth shut."

"Yes, sir," said Harry.

"And ten points from Gryffindor for your insolent remarks."

Harry gave no protest. Disturbingly, the point deduction made him feel a little better.

- - - -

What had to be more than an hour later, the door at the far end of the room opened once again. Severus looked up to see three men enter the room; Lucius Malfoy's voice called out "Lumos!" and the two hulking men flanking him became recognizable as Crabbe and Goyle, senior.

"Awake already, Sev? And here I thought I would get to wake you up with the Cruciatus. I've always found it entertaining, haven't you?"

"Just about as entertaining as listening to your idiotic bragging," muttered Severus under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"I said, 'Fuck you.'"

"Tut, tut, Severus. You really must be losing your touch, resorting to the use of such a blunt verbal weapon." Malfoy now stood just outside of Severus's cell. Potter was silent in his own.

Malfoy pointed his wand at Severus, but did not cast a spell as Severus raised his hand in front of him.

"Lucius, are you daft? You've been reduced to running errands and interrogating prisoners. If you think killing me is going to get you back at the Dark's Lord's side, you're wrong. He's already chosen a new right hand, and she will beat you to the ground." Inwardly, Severus crossed his fingers and prayed for Lucius to display a little gullibility

Lucius turned to his bodyguards as if he hadn't heard Severus at all. "Crabbe! Goyle!" He gestured toward a large, empty plastic garbage can near the cleaning supplies, then returned his attention to Severus. "My old friend, you never cease in your attempts at manipulation. It really is too bad you turned on us… but you won't be manipulating _me_ anytime soon. It should take me just until the new moon rises to kill you, Severus. Well, that is, to _almost_ kill you – the Dark Lord wants that part for himself. The timing is perfect." With a swish of Malfoy's wand, Severus was bound hand and foot, and his cell door slid open. Crabbe and Goyle entered the cell, carrying in the large plastic can.

Lucius spoke the Cruciatus curse almost casually, and Severus stiffened in pain. He felt like he were being boiled alive. _I'll die before I scream_, he thought, clenching his jaw. His self-imposed paralysis kept him silent.

Malfoy turned to Potter's cell, all the while keeping his wand trained on Severus.

"You see, Mister Potter," he began, speaking as a lecturer might speak to a new class, "Severus here has developed an annoying ability to contain himself in the face of excruciating pain. I assure you, he's not immune to the curse – right now he probably feels as if I've drenched him in oil and set him on fire. However, I find it much less amusing when the victim is so silent." He flicked his wand to cut off the curse, and Severus fell to his knees. "I've learned over the years, however, that fear causes an intensification of pain. You see, I've managed to make pain into a type of science, complete with rules and principles just as a proper science ought to have. You, my boy, will be lucky enough to witness those principles in action. Before you die, that is." Potter looked like he might be ill.

As Crabbe and Goyle hauled him to his feet, Severus knew he had lost. He shot an almost regretful look at Potter, his "audience," as Malfoy began to fill the garbage can with water.

- - - -

Harry had seen his fair share of sadistic people in his seventeen years, but he'd never come across anything like Malfoy's lecture on the "science of pain."

Harry didn't want this. Oh, no. Certainly, he didn't want to be in this dungeon. And of course he didn't want to be a human sacrifice when the new moon arrived. But right now, more than anything else, he didn't want to be witness to the torture of one of his teachers. Especially Snape, whom he had loathed for more than six years. Somehow that hatred made him feel worse than if it had been someone he liked.

Conflicting emotions swirled with a definite sense of dread in Harry's brain as Crabbe and Goyle hoisted Professor Snape off of the cold floor. Even now Harry felt guilty: guilty for hating Snape, guilty for having to watch, guilty for being safe from this treatment, guilty that he was somehow glad to be safe from it. What would be worse, he wondered. Watching, or closing his eyes?

Pinned between Crabbe and Goyle, Snape grew even paler as Malfoy finished filling the plastic can with water. He clenched his jaw looked with hatred at Malfoy.

"You. _Bastard_," he spat.

Lucius smiled thinly.

"I was just a _child_ when I told you about – about – _that_! How could you use it against me!?"

Uncomprehending, Harry watched as Lucius chuckled and stepped forward to look Snape in the eye. "I was already a Death Eater when you were eleven years old, Severus. You were easy to manipulate."

Snape made a desperate lunge, managing to free his right hand for a moment and taking a wild swing at Malfoy. Crabbe instantly seized his arm again and Snape's fist hit nothing but air; Malfoy did not look amused.

"I think I've had enough chatting, Severus." He looked at his minions. "Well, dunk him in." Against his will, Harry's found his gaze locked on Professor Snape and his captors.

Despite his obvious fury at Malfoy, Snape initially kept somewhat calm. As Goyle grabbed Snape by his hair and pushed him toward the water's surface, Snape simply took a deep breath. Goyle pushed down until Snape was submerged nearly to the waist, but Snape did not struggle.

Involuntarily, Harry held his own breath. The seconds went by with aching slowness. After half a minute, Malfoy waved a hand and Goyle pulled Snape out of the water. Snape gasped for air, straggling bits of black hair streaming into his face. Harry had just released the breath he was holding and begun to draw a new one when Goyle pushed Snape underwater again.

"You can't do that!" yelled Harry impulsively. "You'll kill him if you don't let him breathe!"

Malfoy briefly turned away from the three other men. "He'll survive long enough. Look, he hasn't even begun to struggle yet." With a sadistic smile, he motioned for his lackeys to pull Snape out again.

"Having fun yet, Severus?" He chuckled as Snape coughed harshly.

"Go to hell, you -"

Snape's insult was abruptly cut off. Lucius had motioned to Goyle just as Snape reached the end of his exhalation, and started to laugh openly as Snape began to fight against the two men holding him down.

As a child, Harry had once gotten into a fight with Dudley at a public pool. The nine-year-old Dudley had pushed Harry into the deep end, and Harry had made the mistake of yelling as he fell. Hitting the water with empty lungs had been terrifying; the few seconds it had taken to swim back to the surface had seemed like an eternity.

"Stop!" Harry yelled now. His interruption caused Lucius to stop laughing. Turning toward Harry in annoyance, he whipped his wand back out and hissed "Silencio!" Any further protests from Harry were cut off by the Silencing Charm. He turned back to Crabbe and Goyle and made an "up" motion with his hand.

Snape's inhalation was ragged and desperate. He looked wildly at Lucius through a curtain of wet hair as the blonde man stepped closer. Goyle's large fist still held him by the hair, and Crabbe's hands were like vises on his arms.

Lucius placed a hand atop Snape's head in what could have been, in other circumstances, a brotherly gesture. Smiling, he pushed down. Snape inhaled loudly. A few more inches, and Snape whispered "no." He repeated the word as Malfoy pushed him closer to the water. Snape's rather large nose was just touching the water's surface when a strangled "please" escaped his lips.

It was a moment of victory for Lucius Malfoy. His smile broadened as he pushed Snape's head underwater again and had Goyle hold the struggling man underwater for what seemed an eternity.

His wand was ready when the time was up. The sound of screaming was not far behind.

- - - -

"D'you reckon classes were cancelled today?" whispered Ron Weasley as he rubbed at his eyes. Opposite him, Hermione rolled her eyes and covered the two of them with Harry's cloak.

Cautiously, they snuck out of the Restricted Section and past the crowd of Ravenclaws that had assembled in the library, hurrying to the Gryffindor common room.

"A Summoning Potion. Of course, Ron, why didn't we think of it before?!" Hermione waved a book in the air as if it didn't weigh close to ten pounds. She was practically giddy with excitement.

"I thought you said last night that we didn't have the ingredients for a Summoning Potion," said Ron, flopping down into a chair. "Don't we need blood for those?"

Hermione sat in another chair and began to page through the book. "Yes, we do. We need blood from one of the people we are being summoned to – namely, Harry or Professor Snape."

Ron gave her a blank look. Hermione smiled.

"Don't you remember Potions last week?" she asked. Ron sprang out of his chair.

"Let's just hope Malfoy didn't clean his tabletop very well," said Hermione as they raced out of the common room.

- - - -

Hermione and Ron entered the darkened Potions classroom on tiptoe, silently closing the door behind them.

"I keep expecting Professor Snape to swoop down on us and give us a year of detention," said Ron as the two made their way to the front of the classroom.

"I just hope they're all right."

"You know Hermione, I'd never admit this to anyone, but I hope so too. Even that slimy git." He arrived at the front right table, then looked down at it with dismay. It had been wiped clean enough to practically sparkle.

"Oh, no."

"Look there," said Hermione, pointing at a crack in the surface. Hermione pulled a Muggle bobby pin from her hair and pried off the plastic bubble at the end. She scraped at the crack with the sharp edge of the pin and rust-colored dust came out.

"That would be dried blood," she said proudly. "And the potion only calls for a drop. Hand me a vial – this should be enough."

- - - -

Harry opened his eyes when the screaming stopped. He didn't know how long it had been going on or exactly when he had squeezed his eyes shut, but it had been a good while ago.

Upon looking into the adjoining cell, Harry found the reason for the newfound silence. Crabbe and Goyle held an unconscious Severus Snape between them, and Lucius Malfoy wore a look of triumph on his face. He motioned to the two men and they dropped Snape on the floor. Upon exiting the cell, Malfoy lowered the ceiling to six feet again.

"Look at you," he said to Harry with a smile. "You look almost as bad as Severus! Wonderful. How does it feel, Potter, to be responsible for this?" When Harry said nothing, Malfoy remembered the silencing charm. Removing it, he repeated his question.

"You're the one responsible," choked Harry.

"You don't really believe that," said Malfoy, smirking. Harry couldn't think of a reply.

"I'll be seeing you again very soon," he laughed. The slam of the outer door left Harry in near-darkness once again.

Harry reluctantly turned toward Snape's cell. Snape lay on the floor, soaking wet to the waist. Harry couldn't see his face through the mop of wet hair.

"Professor?" Harry's question was met with silence.

Harry reached through the bars. Stretching as far as he could, he managed to tap one of Professor Snape's hands. "Professor!"

A groan came from Snape's still form, and the cold hand under Harry's twitched. With painful slowness, Snape raised himself onto his hands and knees and then sat back against the wall. His posture reminded Harry of a rag doll's: legs and arms splayed out, head only held up because of the wall behind it.

"That didn't work out… the way I planned," he whispered hoarsely. Every breath looked like it hurt him; however, the fact that he was conscious at all seemed remarkable to Harry.

"Um… That's OK," said Harry, wondering where his own words had come from.

Snape coughed. "I'm sorry, Potter. We're both going to die here." Harry had never in his life imagined that Snape would utter such a sentence. It was scary, and Harry had no idea how to respond.

"Um… we'll get out of here, Professor. There has to be a way," he said weakly.

Snape let out a short, bitter laugh. "No, Potter," he said, shaking his head. "No, there isn't."

- - - -

**A/N:** Any Princess Bride fans out there will recognize the "science of pain" as Count Rugen's. It just seemed to fit Malfoy so well.

**Thanks **to Suzuki-chan, SiddaBJR, and Snape Girl1 for reviewing!


	8. Ch8: Conversations between Prisoners

**Up From the Dust**

**Chapter 8: Conversations between Prisoners**

Snape sat silently in the far corner of his cell, staring blankly into space; his face unchanging, black eyes unseeing beneath his half-closed eyelids. A layer of ice seemed to have settled over his sharp features, freezing his soul inside and locking the rest of the world, including Harry Potter, out.

_He'll come out of it_, thought Harry, staring straight ahead and confining Snape's still form to the edge of his peripheral vision. Reviving an unconscious Snape was one thing; snapping him out of what was obviously a precarious mental state was another thing altogether. Anyway, Harry couldn't reach Snape when the professor was in the corner. _He'll come out of it_, Harry thought again. He'd been thinking the same thing for the past hour, ever since Snape had regained what could barely be called consciousness after Malfoy's latest round of "playtime."

Since then, Harry had been locked in silence. Snape hadn't said a word.

_He almost looks dead_, thought Harry offhandedly, looking over at Snape's frozen form. Once formed, however the thought refused to dissipate. _Dead… dead… dead…_ echoed in his head, seizing Harry with a sudden, irrational fear. Snape wasn't moving… or blinking. Close to panic, Harry threw himself at the bars adjoining his and Professor Snape's cells.

"Professor!" he shouted, rattling the bars with all of his strength. To Harry's great relief, the Potions Master's half-lidded eyes flew open at the sound. The ice that had encased him shattered, allowing the humanity to creep back into his face.

Disoriented, Snape spent several seconds searching his surroundings; his eyes settled on Harry. "What do you want?" he whispered to Harry, as the younger man knelt in front of his cell. His voice reminded Harry of a dull blade: not as sharp as it should be, but all the more dangerous for its lack of control.

"I'm sorry, Professor… I just thought, um… never mind." Feeling foolish, Harry sat back down. Then, in a rush, he continued.

"Is it possible, Professor, if you're repeatedly… well…"

"Tortured with the Cruciatus Curse?" sneered Snape, completing Harry's uncomfortable sentence for him.

"Well, yes…. I mean, is it possible… I mean, Neville's parents-"

"Potter, the Longbottoms went insane under the Cruciatus because they were too weak to withstand the curse. Those who can't take the pain simply drift away – it's the only way the weak-willed can escape."

Harry found Snape's statement on the Longbottoms extremely uncharitable and unsympathetic – typical for the professor, but surprising considering the two sessions of brutal torture he had just been subjected to. Harry opened his mouth indignantly to defend his friend's parents, then abruptly closed it again, remembering the fugue state Snape had just spent an hour in.

For once in his life, Harry had an insight into the way Snape thought, and actually understood the reason why Snape had said something awful. Snape was condemning the Longbottoms because he was in danger of sharing their fate. Even as Harry watched, Snape's eyes began to regain their previous glazed expression- an expression that Harry liked even less than Snape's unpleasant commentary.

"So!" said Harry loudly, startling awareness back into Snape's face. Harry was thankful for Snape's responsiveness – he didn't want to be trapped in this basement with a corpse or its breathing equivalent. "I didn't know you were married."

Snape snorted and looked down at his left hand; his wedding ring glared traitorously back up at him.

"It was an _arranged_ marriage," he said venomously.

"You never used to wear a wedding ring…" Harry continued.

"It is not really a concern of yours, Potter," said Snape, bristling.

"I was just-"

"Quiet!" snapped Snape, getting wearily to his feet. "You are only making this ridiculous attempt at conversation because you don't want a living corpse in the neighboring cell. I assure you, I'm not that easy to break." Harry didn't quite believe Snape; the professor's erratic shifts in mood were not helping to support Snape's point. Turning away from Snape, Harry listened to the man's footsteps as, head bowed, he paced the cell.

Unfortunately for Snape's pride, he really was in no condition to be walking around, especially bent over under the low ceiling of his cell. Defeated, Snape sat back down, back-to-back with Harry, the bars of their shared cell wall between the two men.

"If you haven't caught on from Malfoy yet, I'm married to the woman who attacked you at Hogwarts," he said dully.

"You've been married to a Death Eater all this time?" asked Harry.

"No…" said Snape with exaggerated slowness, as if he were talking to a small child. "She's been officially dead for the last decade and a half. Unfortunately, certain people in my life have the annoying habit of refusing to stay dead."

"But – she cursed you – all of us – at Hogwarts! You were hurt really badly!"

"I didn't say I loved her, Potter, or that she loved me. Most of the time, she just tolerated me – and I endured her."

Uncomfortable, Harry let the silence stretch out between him and the professor. An idea suddenly struck him, and he turned to face Snape's cell.

"Professor?" he asked.

"What is it, Potter?"

"Teach me about that curse. You know, the one I couldn't fight off," said Harry. "Please," he added belatedly.

For a moment, Snape was silent, and Harry assumed he was being ignored. Snape let out an "oh well, I've got nothing better to do," sigh, then turned around as well.

"It's called the Corpus Imperius," he started. "Control of the body, without touching the mind."

"It's not an Unforgivable?"

Snape snorted at that. "No, Potter. The _brilliant_ minds at the Ministry of Magic believe that the Corpus Imperius is less of a violation because it takes over actions only. The Imperius curse takes over the mind, making you actually want to do what you're being forced to do. And despite the fact that it is somewhat weaker, the Corpus Imperius is more difficult to cast and cannot be compounded, making it less useful. If one person casts the curse on you, you become immune to it as long as the first caster keeps you strung up."

Harry couldn't believe that he was having a civil conversation with Snape. Almost afraid to push his luck, he continued hesitantly. "What makes it so hard to cast? It's not hard to pronounce… it's just 'corpus imperius,' isn't it?"

"Yes, the incantation is simple. It's certainly no _Erscheinungsbildsverschönerung_." Harry shuddered at the memory of the German charms unit from sixth year. "What makes the curse so difficult is the somatic component; one has to split one's concentration to hold on to the victim's body. It's a lot like envisioning puppet strings on the victim's body: leave them loose and the person may not even know he's cursed, but pull them tight and he's helpless."

Harry nodded – the explanation made sense. Although he was hesitant to admit it, Harry had realized something.

Without his bad attitude, Snape would have made a very good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

- - - -

"This brings back memories," said Ron Weasley as he entered a girls' lavatory for the first time in five years. On the floor in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Hermione had set up her supplies and a cauldron, which was bubbling and letting off blue steam. Hermione made no sign of hearing him other than to raise a hand at him in a "be quiet" gesture. As Ron approached her, he heard her counting under her breath as she stirred the potion.

As soon as she reached seventy-seven, Hermione plucked the long-handled spoon out of the potion and dumped in the dried blood from the Potions classroom. As Ron watched, the surface of the potion became still and the color changed to a dark violet. Hermione's face was intent, her body tense as a drawn bow. As the potion began to bubble again, she relaxed and turned to give Ron a big smile.

"I think it's going to work!" she exclaimed, grinning. "I've never brewed something this difficult before – it's been a great challenge!"

Ron Weasley, who had known of the magnitude of the challenge before Hermione began, had wisely decided to leave her alone for most of the last twenty-four hours. Aside from bringing Hermione food and making sure she hadn't fallen asleep, Ron had made himself scarce.

"Oh, such a challenge… You've gone to so much trouble to save your friend. Nobody tried to save me! I died all alone, without anybody!"

Myrtle had returned, rising out of a nearby toilet and whining as she floated over to where the two friends sat on the floor.

"Myrtle, nobody knew you were going to die," said Hermione matter-of-factly. "There was no way they could have fought to save you. You died instantly!"

Not consoled, the ghost floated miserably up to the ceiling.

"Anyway, we're also trying to save Snape, and I'd bloody well like to never see him again," Ron chimed in. "So if we'd try to save someone we hate, maybe it's better that nobody tried to save you. It could have been a sign that they liked you even less."

Surprisingly, Ron's comment seemed to strike a chord with the depressed apparition. As Hermione tried to wrap her brain around Ron's twisted logic, Myrtle floated back toward the floor.

"Snape? I haven't seen him in the students' toilets in years. I talked to him once, in the prefects' bathroom."

"Since when has Snape been in the prefects' bathroom?" asked Ron.

"Oh, not since he was a student. I liked him though. He was so miserable, it cheered me up."

- - - -

Harry Potter was in hell. Or if not Hell per se, pretty damn close. Although he had no way of knowing, he and Severus Snape had been held prisoner for over a day. Lucius Malfoy had returned a third time to torture Snape, and the Potions professor lay face-down and motionless on the damp floor.

If what Harry had felt for Snape was hatred, then there were no words to describe his opinion of Malfoy. Grimly, Harry envisioned dousing the man with the contents of the piss-bucket that had been put in his cell. _No,_ thought Harry, _that wouldn't be near to what he deserves ._

Snape had been out for hours, not even waking to the semiconscious state he had been in after his previous torture session. Every once in a while, Harry would lie on his stomach and stretch his arm through the bars, checking Snape's wrist for a pulse. Malfoy apparently enjoyed his new method of torture, for he hadn't varied his methods; every time he came into the room, Malfoy would nearly drown Snape, then use the Cruciatus and other curses on him until he eventually passed out from the pain. Then Malfoy would give Snape a few hours to recover, and begin again. Harry had the unsettling thought that Malfoy was probably running errands, like a law-abiding citizen, between sessions of torture.

The screams were still ringing in Harry's ears as he reached over to check Snape's pulse. No matter how sarcastic, malevolent, stubborn, and rude the Potions Master was, he was an ally and another human being, and Harry was terrified that he would die. As the time he spent imprisoned with Snape lengthened, Harry was finding it harder to hold on to the hatred be had harbored against the man.

As Harry's fingers touched his professor's clammy skin, Snape's arm twitched. Startled, Harry pulled away as Snape raised himself up onto his hands and knees, then sat against the wall, his elbows on his knees and his forehead resting on his crossed forearms, his face completely blocked from view by the curtain of hair that fell forward over it. After several minutes of silence, Harry felt he had to say something.

"Professor Snape?" he asked quietly.

"What is it, Potter?" asked Snape hoarsely.

Harry hesitated, then went on. "I'm sorry about all this."

Snape snorted, but couldn't muster the energy for sarcasm. "I've been tortured before, Potter," said Snape.

"I didn't just mean that. I- I'm sorry for- for…"

"Just spit it out, Potter."

"I'm sorry for hating you so much, and for never trusting you. You've been trying to keep me alive ever since I got to Hogwarts, and yet I always hated you the most. And…" Harry broke off, not wanting to bring it up. Taking a deep breath, he went on.

"And I'm sorry for looking into that Pensieve with your memories in it. It was wrong, and I'm sorry. You can rub it in as much as you like, now. I'm not going anywhere."

Snape was silent for a long time, and Harry had begun to think he had fallen asleep when he answered. "I wanted to kill you for that, you know. I aimed that jar of cockroaches right at your head, and it was just bad aim that made me miss." In fact, Harry and Snape had barely spoken a word to one another outside of class for the entire time between that unpleasant final Occlumency lesson and their current imprisonment.

"I guess I can't really blame you," Harry finally admitted. "If someone had done that to me, I wouldn't want anyone to see them either."

Snape lowered his head again and muttered, "Of all the things I put in there, and you saw that."

"Well, there were only three…"

Snape snorted. "The other two memories take up nearly two weeks, combined. The one you saw was less than an hour long. What are the odds..."

"Well, I saw that one… and I am sorry. I was then too, but you would never have taken an apology from me at the time. You must have hated me then."

"Yes," said Snape slowly. "Yes, I did."

"Do you still?"

Snape took a long time in answering.

"No, Potter, I suppose I don't. It's difficult to hate someone when you are going to die together."

Harry couldn't think of anything to say in response to his professor's dismal comment, and the silence stretched out between them. Harry's eyes began to feel heavy, and he leaned back against the wall in mimicry of Snape's posture. It seemed wrong to sleep when his death was looming so near in the future, but Harry welcomed the feeling that was creeping over him nonetheless…

"I heard you, by the way."

Harry shook himself and looked over at Snape questioningly. Snape looked back.

"I heard you try to stop Malfoy, the first time. It was a really stupid thing to do, attempting to argue with him."

Harry's mouth dropped open.

"Yes, Potter, it was stupid, and pointless. Typical Gryffindor pride and arrogance." Snape looked away from Harry, then said almost inaudibly, "Thank you."

"Um… you're welcome," said Harry uncertainly. "I'm not as bad as you think, you know."

"Really."

"Really. Did you know I was raised by Muggles...?"

- - - -

Ron looked at the tiny vial on the counter-top with disbelief. Inside was about a milliliter of violet fluid, all that was left after Hermione boiled the potion down to its full strength.

"That's _it_?" he asked.

Hermione nodded as she carefully filled two tiny glass syringes with the potion, leaving only a few drops in the vial. Ron had the sense not to ask where in the world she had gotten them.

"It has to be introduced into the blood of the user to work," she explained. "That's why it's usually bonded to a blade or weapon. If it's made properly and specifically, the weapon won't dissolve after use. Did you know these potions were used in wars hundreds of years ago to transport enemy wounded directly to prison?"

Not waiting for Ron to respond, she put down one of the syringes and sat down on the floor. Ron sat in front of her as she rolled up her left sleeve.

"I'll inject you first," she said, rolling his sleeve up. "I can probably do myself if you disappear too quickly."

"Hermione?" asked Ron.

"Yes?"

"This could very well kill us, you know."

"I know."

"We could both end up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."

"I know, Ron," said Hermione grimly. "But we have to save Harry, or at least try."

Ron gave her a small smile, then reached over and embraced his best friend. He gave her a kiss on the cheek before pulling back, picking up his needle and holding out his bare arm. "If we do die, I'm glad it's with you."

Hermione gave his hand a quick squeeze, then began to examine his arm. As a witch, Hermione would be expected to know next to nothing about injections, but as a Muggle-born, she had at least some experience from the doctor's office. Finding a large vein on the inside of Ron's elbow, Hermione poked at it with the needle and rather inexpertly depressed the plunger. Ron let out a short "ow!" before his arm dropped lifelessly to his side. Clumsily, he tried to reach Hermione, but disorientation was fast overcoming him.

Ron fell backwards; within seconds, he disappeared.

Heart fluttering, Hermione stuck herself in the arm and lay back on the tile. Within moments, the girls' bathroom was empty, save the lonely ghost who made it her home.

**A/N:** Erscheinungsbildsverschönerung - roughly translated it means, "appearance beautification." Just the longest German spell I could come up with that was still one word. I study German and therefore can make fun of it and its ridiculously long compound words.


	9. Ch9: Shifting Thresholds

**Up From the Dust  
Chapter 9: Shifting Thresholds **

"Look, I'll admit it! He might have been a little arrogant, and conceited. But he was still my dad! You can't go insulting someone's father without making them mad."

Harry Potter and Severus Snape sat in the darkness, the bars of their shared cell wall separating them. Their debate had been going for nearly twenty minutes. What made it so incredible was that it was a relatively civil conversation.

Between Severus Snape and Harry Potter.

And neither of them was unconscious, or under the influence of alcohol or a Cheering Charm .

"You took after him," said Severus wryly. "You're just defending yourself by proxy." Potter crossed his arms.

"That's not true! I don't even remember him!"

"They why are you defending him?"

"Wouldn't you defend your own father?" Potter asked.

In the dark, Severus rolled his eyes. "No," he said.

"See, I told-" started Potter, then cut himself off. "_No?_ Why not?"

"None of your business, Potter."

"If you hadn't noticed, we're going to die. You might as well make conversation." In fact, the bizarre lack of hostility between the two was quite disconcerting. _Well,_ thought Severus, _certainty of death does strange things._

Severus sighed and looked over at the boy. "My father was an unpleasant, power-hungry, sarcastic, cruel, and heartless bastard," he said.

"So that's where you get it from," muttered Potter. Realizing what he had just said, the boy closed his eyes. He looked like he expected fireworks from Severus. When Severus remained quiet, Potter looked over to see a surprisingly thoughtful look on his face.

Severus had never really given it much thought, but actually, he _was_ a lot like his father.

"I suppose you're right," he said slowly. "I certainly didn't take after my mother."

Just then, a faint light appeared in Snape's cell. The light quickly coalesced into the form of an unconscious human being, much to the surprise of Severus Snape. Seconds later, another form appeared in the cell, nearly atop the first.

The two people were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

Potter looked stricken. "Oh no…" he said softly. Severus, ignoring the sleeping friends for a moment, raised an eyebrow at Potter.

"They've been captured too!" Harry cried despondently. The two sleepers remained unaware of the noise.

"No, Potter," said Severus. "Are you daft? They're fully clothed and armed."

"They are?" Potter pressed himself against the shared cell wall, peering through at his friends.

Looking down, Severus briefly wondered which one he wanted to listen to less. Although Granger was a know-it-all, she probably knew more than Weasley did. Kneeling next to her, Severus gave Granger a slight shove. The young woman groaned but didn't wake. Severus shook her harder, and she opened her eyes and sat up lethargically, holding her head in her hands. As had Potter before her, however, she quickly snapped out of the potion-induced fog and looked around her. Her eyes, upon finding Severus and Harry behind him, lit up with triumph.

"Miss Granger, what on Earth are you doing here?" asked Severus in his most professorial tone. The smile dropped from Granger's face to be replaced with uncertainty.

"We're… um… here to save you," she said, Severus's voice driving the certainty out of her own.

"And precisely how do you intend on doing that?" he asked, gesturing toward the cell walls surrounding them.

"Well, we… brought our wands," she said, waving hers in the air.

"Does anyone know you left the castle?"

Granger was silent. Oh, gods. For an insufferable know-it-all she had the strangest lapses in practicality.

"So the two Gryffindors have come to save the day, once again, without any assistance from an adult, or gods forbid it, the Ministry? Honestly, Granger, I would have thought someone with your lack of social finesse would have at least made up for it with common sense."

"I don't see her chained to the wall," came a grumbling voice from the floor. Weasley got up stiffly and drew his wand, walking past Severus and over to Potter.

"You all right, Harry?" he asked.

"I guess so," said Potter, still in shock at seeing his friends. "If you don't count being scheduled for a human sacrifice on the night of the new moon." Granger and Weasley exchanged a look.

"What?" asked the two prisoners.

"It's the new moon tonight. It's around six o'clock now. We have to-" Hermione's comment was cut off by the sound of the door opening. Lucius Malfoy entered the room, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy held his wand in his right hand and a long dagger in his left.

The dumbfounded looks on Crabbe's and Goyle's faces were offset by the look of deadly intent on Malfoy's. Without a word, he raised his wand toward the prisoners.

- - - -

Hermione was on her feet in the blink of an eye. Drawing her wand, she cried "Accio Malfoy!" Malfoy let out an undignified yell as he dropped the dagger, flew through the air, and crashed head-first into the bars of Snape's cell. She quickly repeated the summoning charm for the slower Crabbe and Goyle, leaving three unconscious Death Eaters in front of her cell.

"Let's get out of here," said Ron. "There'll probably be more coming."

"Right," said Hermione. In seconds, she had unlocked the prisoners' manacles and burned holes in the front of both Harry's cell and the one that imprisoned Snape, Ron, and herself. Harry and Ron practically jumped out of their cells, whereas the professor moved more slowly and grasped at the remaining cage bars for support. Hermione looked back as Snape exited the cell, taking in his wet, disheveled hair, cut forehead, and shaking hands with a subtle glance. Hermione was a quick study, and not just when it came to books. Somehow she doubted Snape and Harry had simply been kept imprisoned for two days, and Snape's appearance hinted loudly at torture.

"Your shirt is all wet," she ventured as the professor exited his cell.

"I must commend you for your observational skills, Granger. I was unaware that my shirt was wet, but now that you've enlightened me, I'll be sure to start noticing the cold."

After six years, Hermione had begun to get used to Snape's sarcasm. Ignoring his comment, she turned her attention to the group as a whole.

"You two should be armed," she said, earning a muttered "obvious" from Snape. Turning toward the closed door, she gestured with her wand, calling out "Accio Harry's wand! Accio Snape's wand!"

"That's _Professor_ Snape!" said Snape, leaning against the side wall. The three students froze for a moment, expecting further comment from the professor. Instead, Snape merely sank down onto the floor with his back to the wall. Hermione frowned slightly, as Snape wasn't usually the type of person to make himself comfortable around others.

"Professor-" she started.

"So how did you get here?" interrupted Harry. Hermione turned her attention to him.

"Well, Harry, the whole school's been in a panic since you disappeared," said Ron. "Nobody could figure out how you got out of the school through the anti-Apparation and anti-Portkey wards. There've been no classes or anything." Snape snorted from his place on the floor.

"And we realized that all of the professors were trying to find you by focusing on their respective fields of study," said Hermione. "But with Professor Snape missing, there were no people trying to use Potions to find you.

"So we did some research and found that a Summoning Potion could be used to transport a person to the location of another. It took me all of last night and today to brew it, and we used it to get here."

"I suppose that since you appeared in my cell, you linked the potion to me," said Snape.

"Right."

"So where did you get a sample of my blood? I wasn't aware I had started giving it away freely."

"Remember the demonstration you did for the Bezoar Restorative?"

"Of course I remember, Granger."

"Well, I managed to scrape some dried blood out of a crack in the table you put your hand on. It was barely enough, but it worked." Snape raised his eyebrows.

"If you had the wits to brew one of the most difficult potions ever created, why didn't either of you have the sense to tell Dumbledore?"

Hermione was silent for a moment.

"Well, sir, I…I suppose we've just gotten used to not telling. I didn't even think to inform the Headmaster."

"Of course you didn't think, Granger. Typical. You keep everything a secret, thinking it's all a joke, until somebody-" Snape was interrupted by the door's opening of its own accord, letting in two wands. Hermione, who had summoned them, handed them to Harry and Snape, who got back on his feet. Snape waved his wand in the shape of a question mark and asked, "Apparate okay?" The question mark shape drawn in the air turned red, then faded away..

"There is an anti-Apparation ward surrounding this place," he said flatly, without any real surprise. "We'll have to find another way." Without need for further consensus, the four left the room behind, complete with its cells and unconscious Death Eaters.

- - - -

Outside of the basement room was another, barer room, stacked with boxes and with a staircase at the other end. The group climbed the stairs and exited cautiously into a curious hallway: not at all what would be expected at the end of the basement stairs in a Muggle house. The door they had just exited was at one end of the hallway; several doors lined the corridor, and one stood out at the far end. Ron let the basement door shut behind them.

"Great. Now where?" asked Ron.

"How about the door at the end," said Harry. The three students and their professor made their way quickly down the hall and through the door, only to find themselves in another, identical corridor.

"Another corridor?" asked Ron, as he let the door close behind him. "I think we should head back the way we came." Turning around, Ron opened the door through which they had come, then jumped away from the doorway as if a nest of Acromantulas were on the other side.

What was on the other side was not a nest full of Acromantulas. However, it also wasn't the corridor that they had just left. It was, in fact, a bedroom, complete with pink canopy bed and plush carpet.

From the rear of the group, Snape cursed under his breath.

"This house must be under a Shifting Thresholds ward," he said. "Unless you've been spelled against the ward, any door you open can lead to a dozen different places. And I doubt any of those places will be an exit." Snape sighed. "Well, we can't afford to be separated," he said. His three students stood still and did nothing. "Get in then!" he snapped, motioning them into the frilly pink bedroom.

"There's a window here," said Ron as they entered. Striding over to it, he pulled aside the curtains. A second later he reeled back, stumbled, and fell onto the pink carpet. Mercifully, the curtains fell back into place, blocking the offending window from sight.

"I could have told you not to do that," said Snape, one hand on the wall. "The ward can have unexpected effects with windows and fireplaces. Do try to avoid scrambling what little brains you have unless you've found the front door."

"Well, what do you suggest?" asked Harry. "We're probably being searched for by now."

"Undoubtedly," said Snape. "We'll just have to keep going." Pushing off of the wall, Snape opened the door and held it as the three teenagers walked into what was now a bathroom. Leaving through the same door, the group entered another bathroom, then a study, a hallway, and a bedroom with a large, broken mirror.

"This is ridiculous," said Ron as they closed the door. Reopening the door, they were confronted with the same basement stairs they had recently climbed. Sighing, Ron walked down a few stairs to let the others in…

And disappeared.

"Ron!" Harry cried, stepping down to where he had just been. Hermione paled. _I guess dried blood really doesn't work as good as fresh,_ she thought.

Snape, a step below Hermione, turned around and grabbed her by the shoulders with no little urgency. "Tell Dumbledore," he said to Hermione, making sharp eye contact. "Understand? Tell him!"

Hermione began to nod, but never finished. Snape was left grasping at nothing, and Harry wondered for a second whether the appearance of his friends had just been a hallucination.

The door above them opened, and both Harry and Snape looked up with dismay.

"Well, well… there you are," said Juliette MacBride Snape, standing next to a very put-out Lucius Malfoy. "Going somewhere?"

- - - -

In the staff room, Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Flitwick were discussing the possibility of combining a dispelling charm with a locator when the door burst open, admitting the seventh-year Gryffindor prefects.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley immediately began talking at the same time. Stopping, each gestured toward the other that he or she could speak. They immediately resumed speaking at the same time.

Ron quickly gave up and let his more articulate friend do the explaining.

- - - -

Three wizards and one witch stood on the half-lit staircase. Below stood Harry Potter, wand at the ready, and Severus Snape, wand hand shaking, but more than making up for it with pure scorn. Above stood a very unhappy Lucius Malfoy, his forehead a bloody mess and platinum blonde hair in uncharacteristic disarray, and a perfectly composed, deadly ice statue of a woman formerly known to the world as Snape's wife.

There were four highly skilled magic users on the stairs, and ironically, the most effective thing any of them did was not very magical at all.

Juliette took two steps downward and gave Harry Potter a shove, and like a pair of dominoes, he and Snape went down the stairs. The landing at the bottom of the stairs knocked the wind out of Snape; having Harry land on top of him didn't help.

"Go," said Juliette to Malfoy. Malfoy, looking annoyed, opened his mouth to protest.

"I can handle them," she said, waving a hand at the stunned pair at the foot of the stairs. As if to emphasize her point, Potter groaned from his place on the floor. "You, go see if the Dark Lord has finished preparing for the ritual." When Malfoy didn't immediately reply, Juliette spun around, pointing her wand at his crotch. "Now," she said in an icy tone.

Clenching his jaw and looking as if he very much wanted to protest, Malfoy turned and left, leaving Juliette along with Harry and Snape. Harry had moved from on top of Snape and had retrieved his wand, but was wary. He had already seen enough from this woman to know that a simple spell wouldn't be enough to take her out.

"You two little worms are both going to do-" she began down the stairs, "exactly," she stopped near the bottom, "what I tell you to." She pointed her wand at Harry.

"Corpus imperius!" Surprise lit on Juliette's face as the spell she was about to cast rang through the air. At its receiving end was Harry Potter; the caster was Severus Snape.

Harry caught on. "Remember what I taught you!" hissed Snape, as Juliette turned toward him.

"Corpus imperius!" cried Harry. His spell struck the Potions professor square in the chest, and Harry could tell immediately that it had worked.

"It's such a shame the _corpus imperius_ can only be cast by one person," said Snape with false sincerity. Undeterred, Juliette did what any Death Eater would do in that situation: She tried a stronger curse.

Unfortunately for her, she had been dead for the last sixteen years. That gave her almost no knowledge of Harry Potter or his resistance to a certain Unforgivable curse.

The second Juliette cast the Imperius curse on Harry, she was caught. Stuck in a battle of wills with the seventeen-year-old, she neglected to take notice of the wand trained on her until she had been blasted off her feet by Severus Snape.

Dropping her wand, Juliette tumbled down the last few stairs and landed where Snape had just been.

- - - -

Slightly lightheaded, Severus approached his wife, who lay reeling at the foot of the stairs. As he came to stand over her, a look of disbelief crossed her features.

Without hesitation, Severus cast a curse on Juliette that left her concentration shattered, ensuring that she would not be performing any wandless spells for quite some time. He also cast the rather juvenile, but effective Jelly-Legs Jinx on her.

Severus was not in very good physical condition: every nerve he possessed felt as if it had been singed with a hot iron, his chest hurt from inhaling water, he had a large cut on his forehead, he hadn't eaten in two days, and his left hand was still burned. Nonetheless, for all her magical power and capability for physical fighting, Juliette was a very small woman. Severus bound her hands behind her and hauled her to her feet with little trouble. With Harry Potter trailing behind, Severus re-entered the second basement room, slamming Juliette into the remains of Potter's cell.

"You got overconfident," he said. "You may be powerful, but you're still human. You should have kept Malfoy with you."

"You got lucky," she retorted venomously. "You're… nothing compared to me."

"I do believe I've tied you up and left you quite helpless, Juliette. That would support an argument to the contrary."

Juliette laughed coldly. "You're just a little worm, Severus, wriggling in the dirt. The Dark Lord will find you," she said wobbily, her knees threatening to give out. "He'll make you wish Malfoy had gutted you when he-"

Letting go of her robes, Severus backhanded Juliette across the face; without support, she fell to the floor in a semi-upright position.

Severus leaned over his wife, one hand braced against the bars of the cell. "I want a divorce," he said slowly, a cold, mirthless smile creeping over his lips. His voice was edged with a deadly certainty as he pointed his wand at Juliette.

"Um… Professor?"

Severus was wrenched from his moment of cold triumph by the sound of his student and fellow prisoner's voice. "We need to get out of here, Professor," continued Potter from behind Severus's back.

Severus looked over his shoulder at a rather pale-looking Harry Potter. The boy had a hand to his forehead. "Go back in the other room," Severus told him flatly.

"What are you going… to…" Potter trailed off at the look in Severus's eyes. He knew who Juliette was, and what she was. So he knew what Severus was going to do. He backed out of the room slowly, leaving Severus and Juliette alone.

Severus returned to Juliette, who still sat limply against the cell wall. Once again, he pointed his wand at her forehead.

"You must understand the necessity of this," he said, his face expressionless. "I can't let you live. Not with what you've done."

Juliette sneered up at him. "You don't have the balls to murder me," she said arrogantly.

"I haven't killed anyone in a long time," he agreed. "I hope you'll be the last." Summoning all of his will, he prepared to cast the Killing Curse, to speak two words that hadn't left his lips in over a decade.

And he found that he couldn't do it.

Several seconds ticked by, and Juliette began to laugh at him. "I told you, Severus!" she laughed, getting shakily to her feet as Severus placed his wand back in one of his deep pockets. Even weakened, fuzzy-headed, and with her hands tied behind her, Juliette managed to be condescending.

So caught up in her condescension was Juliette, however, that she took no notice of Severus as he took a quick, decisive step toward her. She didn't see the flash of movement at Severus's right side until it was too late.

Time seemed to stop for that moment, locking Severus's gaze on the face of his wife. Severus peered into her brown, human eyes, watching the disbelief coalesce there, watching as pain crowded out the disbelief.

Silently, Juliette raised a hand to Severus's face, her fingers brushing against the few days' worth of beard stubble on his cheek before falling back. It was a human touch, born of desperation and suddenly realized mortality.

Severus only let go of Malfoy's dagger as Juliette fell, the hilt slipping from his cold fingers, the blade embedded in Juliette's chest. Despite the evil and madness that lived within her, Juliette was a woman, and within her breast a heart had still beaten, human and breakable – a heart that could be stopped.

Shaking, Severus turned his back on Juliette and left the room.

**A/N: **Thanks to Suzuki-chan, Silverthreads, TEC, Sarah, and SiddaBJR for reviewing! You're providing me with motivation to write more Snapefics after this one. (I can't believe it's almost over – sniff!) I really appreciate your input.


	10. Ch10: Shattered Wards

**Up From the Dust**

**Chapter 10: Shattered Wards**

Severus entered the second room of the basement to find Harry Potter standing motionless in the center of the room, his back to the door. Something about his rigid posture set off an alarm in Severus's head.

He walked over to face Potter, finding him transfixed, with a curious look on his face – the same look he'd seen on repeat torture victims' faces as they heard their torturers' returning footsteps. It was the look of remembered suffering and anticipated pain. It was the look of fear people got when they realized, without a doubt, that something horrible was about to happen to them.

"Potter?" he asked.

In slow motion, the boy raised a hand to the scar on his forehead, then brought it in front of his eyes. Potter looked as if he expected to see blood there. Then, soundlessly, Potter clapped both of his hands to his head. The boy gasped in sudden, intense pain, then fell to the floor, hands still clutching at his forehead.

Severus knew immediately what caused the boy's pain: He could feel it in a way that words could not describe – in a primal part of his brain that understood, and even spoke, the irrational language of magic. From the doorway at the top of the stairs radiated waves of Dark magic more intense than he had ever felt before: magic from a Dark wizard who had spent the last day preparing spells for an ancient and evil ritual, a Dark wizard universally feared even at his weakest, a Dark wizard who had been pulled from his altar when several of his helpers had failed to show up. A Dark wizard known to the world as Lord Voldemort.

Now, Severus was usually an articulate man, possessed of a wit as quick as his temper. He was capable of crafting sentences whose eloquence was matched only by their causticity. In short, he was a man of keen intellect and linguistic dexterity.

"Oh, shit," said Severus Snape.

- - - -

Hermione Granger had never thought that a wizard as old as Albus Dumbledore could move so quickly. Nearly out of breath, Hermione and Ron chased after Dumbledore, bursting into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom for the second time in an hour.

"Here it is," said Hermione, picking up the nearly-empty vial from the floor where she had dropped it earlier. "There's enough of the potion left to transport one person… but sir…"

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"Well, the potion renders the user unconscious. If you appear next to Professor Snape and there's some sort of trouble… no offense, sir, but you'll be a sitting duck."

Dumbledore smiled at Hermione. "I'll take the necessary precautions, Miss Granger. After all, I may not equal Professor Snape at Potions, but I can hold my own in Charms, wouldn't you say?" As he spoke, Dumbledore filled one of Hermione's syringes with the remnants of her potion, then handed it back to Hermione. Hermione took it with a questioning look on her face.

"I've already cast a Wakefulness Charm on myself that should counter the negative effects of the potion," said Dumbledore. Hermione looked at him skeptically.

"But, sir, what about the- I mean, the potion wears off very quickly, sir!"

"Don't worry about me, Miss Granger, I assure you I can take care of that bit of magic without trouble." Rolling up his sleeve, Dumbledore held an arm out to Hermione.

"Would you do the honors, Miss Granger?"

- - - -

On the floor, Potter stopped writhing and lay still. The Dark Lord took a menacing step toward Severus, who stood almost in the center of the room. White-faced, Severus stood his ground.

He was going to die, but he had no intention of dying on his knees.

Pre-empting the Dark Lord, Severus spoke. "I've been against you from the beginning," he lied, pushing the lie into the forefront of his consciousness and Occluding the truth. _Let him wonder,_ he thought. _Let him have a little insecurity._

Voldemort laughed, a sound that was like the sharpening of knives.

"Snape," he said. "You hid the truth well."

_Yes, I did,_ thought Severus, wondering at the bizarre turn his life had taken. Here he stood, at the very moment of his death, being complimented by Lord Voldemort on his own deception.

_I suppose I never wanted to reach forty anyway,_ he thought. Severus reached for his wand, only to find himself suddenly frozen, a statue for all he could do. The Imperius curse rang in Severus's ears as Voldemort forced Severus's gaze to meet his own demonic stare.

"Do you expect me to kill you?" asked Voldemort, taking a few slow steps around Severus's rigid form. Severus remained silent, a prisoner of the curse Voldemort had so effortlessly cast on him.

"Answer!" he hissed. The command jolted through Severus's consciousness along the lines of the Imperius curse; unable to fight, Severus nodded.

"How does one destroy a traitor, Snape?" he demanded. Severus felt the control over his ability to speak released, but said nothing.

"Veritas!" hissed Voldemort, adding a second curse. Severus relented under the Dark Lord's pressure.

"Kill him," he said numbly.

Voldemort laughed again.

"And what has always been my promised method of execution for traitors?"

"Torture," choked Snape. "Torture without the Cruciatus – without madness as an escape."

"Always a quick study, weren't you, Snape. You're correct, of course. Tell me… do you think I'll kill you now?"

"Yes."

Voldemort nodded, then smirked. "I thought I would, too, before I realized what a waste of good material it would be to kill one as talented as yourself." He paused in a moment of self-satisfaction before continuing. "No, Snape, I'm merely going to kill your _soul_, whatever… imperfection led you to betray me. I'll wipe out every memory of yours, every love, every hatred, every drive, every tie you have to everyone in the entire world, leaving nothing but magic and potions and numbers. I'll take the husk that's left over after every shred of humanity has been ripped from your mind, and I'll use the cold, dead, and brilliant automaton that's left over to do a thousand times more damage than you ever could have averted."

Voldemort continued to smile as Severus closed his eyes. Voldemort had indeed hit on the worst possible punishment; not to kill Severus, not to torture him for days or weeks or months, not even to kill those he cared about, but to use him to carry out such deeds, to undo any good that Severus had done in the past seventeen years. For the first time in that long, a desire to join the family and kill himself crept into Severus's trapped mind.

_Anything but this,_ he thought, as Voldemort raised his wand again.

_Anything._

Severus kept his eyes closed, but never felt the spell he was expecting to hit him. Instead, a burning light flooded into his self-imposed darkness, a red glow that must have been as bright as the sun on the outside. Opening his eyes, Severus saw what could only be an angel interpose itself between Severus and the Dark Lord – a figure in pure white, with white hair. The angel spoke, and it was in a voice deep with age and accumulated wisdom, a voice that had defeated an evil lord and taught children, a voice that could chastise or comfort, heal or destroy. It was Albus Dumbledore's voice.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!" he roared, putting over a hundred and fifty years of magical practice into the spell to end all spells. Severus felt the power of the incantation as it tore through the house and its inhabitants, shattering the wards, destroying the cage in which Severus's mind was trapped, severing the thread that the imperfect potion had woven between Dumbledore and Hogwarts, and leaving everyone but the old man momentarily stunned.

It was several moments before Severus could orient himself. "Albus?" he whispered.

Dumbledore had come for them. He'd really not had much hope.

Dumbledore took no notice of Severus's awestruck face, however, his back turned to his young friend and his concentration on the serpentine figure of Voldemort. In the moment of confusion after his appearance, Dumbledore had wrapped a light ward around Voldemort, freezing the Dark wizard within a wall of white light.

Severus could see the strain in the old man's rigid form. Holding back a wizard like Voldemort had to be like trying to hold back the sea.

"Go, Severus! Take Harry!" Albus managed to say.

"What about you?" cried Snape.

"GO!" repeated Albus. "I'll be fine here." The strain in Dumbledore's voice did little to support him.

"The hell you will!" yelled Severus. "You'll hold that ward until you're exhausted in order to let us get away, and then the Dark Lord will _kill_ you! I won't go! I won't let you sacrifice yourself for us!"

"Severus… I'll be right behind you."

Severus balled his hands into fists. "You… you stubborn old Gryffindor!" he shouted. "You've just saved me and Potter from fates worse than death, and I'll be damned if you don't come with… us…"

Severus gasped in surprise as his uncharacteristically emotional speech was cut short. Neither the rapidly weakening Dumbledore nor the frozen Voldemort had anything to do with his sudden silence.

What stopped Severus was the dagger that pierced his back and sliced through his right lung, the point emerging from his chest mere centimeters from his heart.

Juliette, after all, couldn't leave without a parting shot.

- - - -

Severus Snape, after all, was a wizard: highly trained in magic, but poorly versed in anatomy. Severus had aimed for Juliette's heart when he stabbed her, but he had missed his target; although Juliette was mortally wounded, she had not died instantly. Juliette stood at death's door, but she was determined to take one more person across the threshold with her.

After crawling across the room where she had been left, she had managed to free herself from her bonds and get to her feet. As Albus Dumbledore shattered the magic field within the house, Juliette had been bleeding on the doorjamb, and when Severus began to speak, she had ripped the knife from her own chest and begun to stagger across the shabby basement room toward her husband.

With her final strength, Juliette had lunged at Severus, driving the same dagger into his back. With a terrible smile, Juliette sank to the floor, dragging Severus with her. The Potions Master, too shocked to scream, fell with her, twisting the dagger as he fell next to his once-beautiful wife. At that point Severus did scream, a choked sound escaping from his lungs; it was the sound of Severus's drowning scream that finally broke Dumbledore's faltering concentration.

As Severus lay gasping in a pool of blood, both his and Juliette's, Voldemort broke free from the spell that Dumbledore had ensnared him with. Enraged, the Dark wizard sent a killing curse at Dumbledore; Dumbledore dodged the ray of green light and retaliated with a Heartbreaker Curse. Just as easily as Dumbledore had deflected the killing curse, Voldemort shielded himself from Dumbledore's hex. Drawing magic from his nearly-dead lover, Voldemort sent a vortex of pure darkness whirling toward the old man; this hit Dumbledore head-on, but only stunned him. Forcing himself forward, Dumbledore cast a spell at the floor in front of Voldemort. From the floor sprang vines the thickness of a man's forearm and studded with white flowers; for a moment, they wrapped themselves around Voldemort, but they were quickly burned away in a blaze of red fire.

The light of the fire reflected off of the couple lying on the floor; the pool of blood shone an even deeper red in the light of Voldemort's flames.

Still wreathed in fire, Voldemort fashioned a great serpent of flame and loosed it on Dumbledore. The white wizard struck the beast down with a single blow, conjuring up an impenetrable cloud of white butterflies to surround himself. The butterflies flew in circles around Dumbledore, a few of them dying to protect Dumbledore as Voldemort once more tried the killing curse. Angrily, the Dark Lord turned the lot of butterflies to paper; they fluttered to the floor as Dumbledore conjured up another wave of the gossamer creatures.

However, as Voldemort destroyed the second cloud of insects and prepared to curse Dumbledore again, the older wizard summoned his strength and conjured an ethereal shield between himself and Voldemort. He faced Voldemort over the bodies of Severus Snape, his wife, and his student, the sudden calm after the flurry of activity disconcerting in the same way the eye of a hurricane is disconcerting. Breathing heavily, Dumbledore faced Voldemort.

"We're too evenly matched, Tom," he said, stepping toward the trio on the ground. "If we continue like this, one of us will eventually win… but at the expense of their lives."

It was true. Every heartbeat poured forth the lifeblood of Severus Snape and his wife. Both unconscious, the two seemed almost peaceful; the creases on Severus's face had evened out and the usual contempt had left Juliette's now deathly pale face. Midnight-colored strands of Snape's hair mingled with Juliette's blood-streaked blond, and Severus's left hand, heavy with its gold band, lay still upon Juliette's right.

They were dying, and were not taking their time.

Voldemort hissed at Dumbledore, but could not argue. For all his unholiness, Voldemort had retained a cold rationality; that rationality said that his child would soon die if he continued to fight.

"I'll kill you another day," he said, lowering his wand. Lifting his cold lover, Voldemort sneered at Dumbledore, then disappeared.

Dumbledore knelt down on the floor, pulling Potter over to where Severus lay. Dumbledore took each of their hands in his own, and then did something that few witches or wizards would ever have the strength to do. Holding fast to Harry and Severus's hands, Dumbledore Apparated all three of them to the Forbidden Forest.

- - - -

Poppy Pomfrey was sitting in the hospital wing, treating a fourth-year's outbreak of hex-induced warts, when Albus Dumbledore came bustling in, two stretchers floating behind him. On one lay a completely motionless Harry Potter, his black hair lying in tangles around is still, pale face. On the other lay Severus Snape, face-down, a dagger protruding at an odd angle from the middle of his blood-soaked shirt, his face veiled in dirty black hair, one limp hand hanging in midair, the other trapped beneath him.

Poppy's wart-covered fourth-year took one look at the blood-soaked Potions professor and ran out of the hospital wing, trailing something along the lines of "comebacklater!" Exhausted and oblivious, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger slept on in the far end of the wing.

It really was good that the teenager made himself scarce, for Poppy instantly transformed from role model to bad example in a string of diverse curses, many of which hadn't seen the inside of the hospital wing in decades. Lowering Potter onto a bed, Albus pulled Severus's stretcher in front of himself, the unconscious man's still form hovering between them. Severus was still bleeding, although Poppy could barely see how after all of the blood he'd lost already. Potter would be fine – here in front of Poppy was the priority case.

In an instant, Poppy shredded the shirt from Severus's back, revealing Malfoy's blade and a jagged wound. Severus's pale skin was drenched in red.

Poppy looked up at Albus questioningly as she took in the blade, her wand held ready in her right hand. With a deft motion, Poppy pulled the dagger from Severus's flesh, sealing the wound a split second later. Carefully, she checked over the wound to make certain that it was no longer bleeding; she then gingerly felt for Severus's pulse. Weak, fluttery, but there. Poppy let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Albus was standing as still as a statue on the other side of the stretcher.

"Albus?" Poppy asked gently, not wanting Albus's concentration to falter and the stretcher to fall. Albus raised his blue eyes to meet hers.

"He'll survive," she said, motioning to the purple-and red aura that she had conjured around Severus's body. "He's out of immediate danger now."

"Thank the gods!" muttered Albus, sinking back onto a chair. He pushed a lock of white hair from his face, leaving a red streak across his white features. Poppy deliberately averted her gaze from Albus's red-stained hands; Albus didn't seem to notice that he was covered in Severus's blood. As Poppy carefully levitated Severus to a bed of his own and began to clean and bandage his wounds, she turned to look at Albus. He looked more shaken than she'd seen him in a long time. _I wonder what happened… wherever they were?_ she thought to herself.

"Albus, I think I should check you over," she said. Dumbledore looked positively ancient, drooping against the chair he sat in.

"I'm all right, Poppy," he said, a faint, slightly sad smile taking hold on his face. "I'm just spent. I didn't even have the strength to help Severus when we Apparated here – that's why I left him… the way he was." Albus looked down at his bloodstained hands. "Actually, I think I was more frightened by Severus's wounds than battling Voldemort!"

Poppy jumped at the name, then spun around to face Albus in disbelief. "You fought… You-Know-Who?" she asked.

Albus sighed. "It's a long story, Poppy… I'll tell you tomorrow." Once again, he directed his gaze toward Severus. Poppy had him levitated upright and was trying to get a clean shirt over his lolling head.

"Aren't you going to replace the blood he lost?" asked Dumbledore. Severus's face was ashen.

"I just did – to a small extent. Potions work better for that, and anyway, he needs the sleep," Poppy replied. As if in support, a slight tremor ran through Snape's body – the tell-tale shaking caused by a long dose of the Cruciatus.

"I think he would be better off to spend this night unconscious. I'll give him a blood-restoring potion in the morning."

Albus nodded, then gave a start as Poppy shot a cleaning spell at him.

"I could have taken a bath, Poppy," he said. She smiled in reply.

"Go to bed, Albus," she said. "We'll sort this all out in the morning."

Deferring to Poppy's wisdom, Albus got out of his chair. He looked over at Potter; the color had already returned to the boy's sleeping face. He then stepped over to where Severus lay on his side, back and chest bandaged under the linen shirt Poppy had put on him. His left hand and forehead were bandaged as well… Poppy was nothing if not thorough. Albus gently placed a hand on Severus's forehead, brushing a lock of dirty black hair behind one of his ears, revealing his prominent nose and dark-lashed, closed eyes. Poppy had never seen anyone display such affection for the surly Potions Master. The fact that Severus would not even remember this moment somehow made Poppy sad.

"It's good to have them back," she said softly.

"It is indeed, Poppy. It is indeed."

**A/N:** One chapter to go… I've got one more bump in the road to toss at you. Many thanks to nana-hedwig (nice to see a new reader!), Sarah (love your analysis), SiddaBJR (yep… you were right about her not being dead, weren't you… hee hee hee), Silverthreads (glad you liked the last chapter), and Suzuki-chan (you may be pleased to know that I'm drafting a new fic). Thank you all!


	11. Ch11: Beginnings and Ends

Hi all, and welcome to the last chapter (aaah!!!) of Up From the Dust.

A minor update for any regular readers – I realized I never did officially break Lucius out of prison, and so added the following piece of a sentence to Chapter 6:

_Draco Malfoy raised his hand, only to be interrupted by a loud knock at the door. It swung open before Sinistra could even say "come in," admitting the tall form of Draco's father._

_"I need to speak with my son, for a moment, professor… Sinistra, isn't it?" He looked down at the witch with condescension, and she clenched her jaw to prevent herself from saying anything. He knew very well what her name was. _

_"Of course, Mr. Malfoy," she said, wishing she didn't have to let this snotty man do just that, **or even better, that he had never weaseled his way out of Azkaban in the first place**. Without a word, Draco left his seat and stepped out of the classroom._

Minor detail, but I can be a nitpick.

Sorry for keeping you waiting… as many of you probably know, it's finals week. ((shrieks)) But I managed to get this up! Woot! I hope you like it…

Onward!

**Up From the Dust**

**Chapter 11: Beginnings and Ends**

As he had so many times in the past few days, Harry woke to darkness. He was both amazed and happy to find that he was surrounded not by cell walls, but by the comforting dark of a somewhat crowded hospital wing. Reaching over to the table beside his bed, Harry found his glasses and put them on. At the far end of the room, he could make out Hermione's bushy mane and Ron's flaming red hair peeping over the edges of blankets. _Thank God_, he thought, taking in the sight of his best friends. _Thank God we made it out of there_.

Triggered by the thought of "we," Harry suddenly remembered Snape. Turning over, he was shocked at the flood of relief he felt as Severus Snape's form came into focus. Two beds away, Snape lay with his back to Harry. He was shaking slightly, as if a low-level electrical current were being constantly applied to the man's body.

Even from the back, Snape looked exhausted. Harry wondered how long the two of them had been in the hospital wing.

"What do you want, Potter?" came Snape's hoarse voice. Harry jumped, startled. He hadn't known Snape was awake.

A million questions flooded through Harry's brain, each effectively blocking the other out. Finally, Harry settled for simplicity. "What happened?" he asked.

Snape rolled onto his back and turned to face Harry. He moved to cross his arms in front of him, but winced and kept them at his sides.

"We were both murdered, Potter, and Hell looks just like the hospital wing at Hogwarts." Apparently Snape's sarcasm never took a vacation. In the dark, innocuous and ultimately safe environment of the hospital wing, however, Snape's usually intimidating sarcasm was almost welcoming. Undeterred by Snape's comment, but nonetheless somewhat embarrassed about the nature of his question, Harry went on.

"How… um… how did we…?"

"Spit it out, Potter," interrupted Snape.

"How did we get out?" asked Harry. "I thought we were both going to… well… die."

"Headmaster Dumbledore took what was left of Miss Granger's potion."

"He saved me?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, he saved _you_. And as an added bonus, he saved me, too," replied Snape.

"How did he get us out of there?"

The confidence fell from Snape's face at the question, and he frowned up at the ceiling.

"Professor?" prodded Harry. Snape continued to hesitate.

"Did he do something illegal? Or… are you not allowed to tell me?"

Now looking more than a little embarrassed, Snape did cross his arms. "I don't know, Potter, I was unconscious at the time." Snape said. He kept his gaze on the ceiling while he made his reply.

A thousand terrible images ran through Harry's mind concerning just how Snape had ended up unconscious in the same room with Voldemort.

"God, did V – I mean, did You-Know-Who –"

Snape interrupted him. "I was stabbed in the back by my supposedly twice-dead wife and nearly bled to death. What a very Muggle way to die, hmm?"

"But I thought she – I thought that you –"

"Like I said… some people in my life just refuse to die."

"Oh," said Harry. "But then—"

Snape cut him off. "Go to sleep, Potter," he said. "I'm sure Albus will interrogate the both of us in the morning."

- - - -

At its zenith, the new moon cut a hole in the field of stars. Robed in crimson, Lord Voldemort carried his lover, deathly pale and in blood-streaked white robes, into the center of the graveyard. Following the battle, he had sealed Juliette's wounds, but she had lost too much blood. Voldemort, a Dark wizard who knew only how to kill and cause pain, did not heal her. He had no need to heal her.

They had lost Potter; their intended sacrifice had escaped. The powerful wizard Voldemort had intended to drain and kill was out of his reach, unable to feed Voldemort's unborn child. There was only one substitute available.

"Bella," Voldemort growled, setting Juliette down on the altar that he had prepared.

"My Lord," came the reply. The Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange bowed to her master from behind her faceless mask. Her brother-in-law, Lucius Malfoy, stood silently beside her. Behind their masks, both Death Eaters wore smug, cruel, and triumphant smiles.

"Begin the incantations," intoned Voldemort, placing the tip of his wand against Juliette MacBride Snape's still-flat belly.

"Yes, My Lord."

Under the stars, their light blotted out by the black disk of the New Moon, Juliette MacBride Snape died her second death, her final death. As her last breath left her lips, a baby's scream cut through the night air. The sound was later said to have awakened every Muggle in the nearby town. Few returned to their beds that night.

Juliette's unholy child had her father's eyes.

- - - -

When Harry Potter woke up screaming, Severus wasn't even truly surprised.

Granger and Weasley, who had been ordered to remain in the Hospital Wing for "observation," were at their friend's side in seconds, both harshly alert in the way that people can only be after being shocked out of sleep by something horrifying. Severus, with the knife wound through his chest, was a bit slower to respond, sitting upright and getting somewhat painfully to his feet. Moments later, Poppy Pomfrey came rushing into the hospital wing, clearly fresh out of dreamland herself.

"Harry!" shouted Weasley, grabbing his nearly insensible friend by the shoulders. Potter stopped screaming, but did not return to awareness. Instead, he struggled in Weasley's arms, a look of horror on his face. Granger and Weasley had similar looks on their own.

"I don't understand," said Granger. "Last time this happened, he was talking, struggling more. Now – well, _look_ at him!"

Potter was obviously completely unaware of his surroundings, physical or mental. It was almost as if he'd been flooded with pure emotion – in this case, abject horror.

From beside Weasley and Granger, Madam Pomfrey cast her blue aura around Potter, not surprised to see a red streak hovering over the boy's forehead. It almost seemed as if this were becoming routine. Sighing, she raised her wand to stun him into unconsciousness.

"Don't," Severus said suddenly. Poppy turned away from the struggling young man as Severus began making his way stiffly across the room, wand in hand.

"He is obviously unaware of anything going on, Poppy. Stun him and we may never find out what's happening."

"Sev – _Professor Snape_!" she hissed. "Get back in bed before you reopen that wound!"

Severus briefly narrowed his eyes at her, then pointed his wand at Potter. Weasley stood between Snape's wand and its target.

"Move, Weasley," said Snape matter-of-factly.

"No way!" cried the teenager, still holding tightly to his friend's shoulders.

"Professor Snape…" warned Poppy.

Severus turned to Poppy, speaking slowly, as if to a small, stupid child. "We need to know what it is he's seeing, _Madam Pomfrey_, in case it's something important."

The last time Severus had deemed something 'important,' he had run out of the hospital wing like a madman, without a plan or a care for his own safety, and made a hasty deal with a man who'd then betrayed him. He'd considered a quick assessment of the situation following Potter's stabbing 'important', and had ended up imprisoned and tortured.

Poppy had a point.

He would never, ever admit it.

"You're not leaving," she said, stepping between Ron and Severus and becoming yet another obstacle. Behind her, Potter continued to stare, horror-stricken, into the eyes of his frightened best friend. Granger held one of his hands as Weasley kept a firm grip on his shoulders.

"What are you going to do, _Madam_, curse me?" Severus asked icily. Unfortunately for him, the iciness of his tone was dampened by his hoarse voice and the shaking left hand he held against his chest.

"You're hurt, and I'm faster than you, _Professor,_" Poppy continued, putting her hands on her hips.

Severus rolled his eyes impatiently. "Whatever, Poppy! Get out of the way!"

"Promise you won't leave,"

"_Poppy-_"

"Promise!"

"All right, I promise! Now _move!_" Severus's shout was terminated with a series of painful coughs.

Reluctantly, Madam Pomfrey stepped out of the way. "Come on, Mr. Weasley," she said, beckoning him away from the bed.

"But-"

"Come on Ron," said Granger gently. "I think… I think Professor Snape knows what he's doing."

With as much reluctance as Madam Pomfrey, Weasley released Potter. Potter immediately began to thrash around again.

"Legilimens," said Severus hoarsely. Potter froze as Severus's spell hit him.

At its worst, Legilimency was like searching for a single flower in a pitch-black field, or trying to pick out a single voice from a crowd of thousands; at its best, it was like diving into a fuzzy Pensieve. Severus expected that he would have to force his way into Potter's mind- he was not prepared for the sheer intensity of emotion Potter was experiencing. It was like being stabbed again: right between the eyes. Fractured images, emotions, and thoughts pierced through Severus's mind like daggers.

Foremost was _Voldemort_. Tall. Pale. Scary as hell.

Then _Malfoy. _And_ Lestrange_. Lestrange?

_No questioning! _nearly knocked Severus off of his feet. _Lestrange_ again. Then _Voldemort_.

And _Juliette_. Not dead yet?

_She_ _always was the most loyal_. That was clear.

_Powerdarknessmadness _and then _– Juliette _again.

_One life for another_. Whose life? Her life.

_PAIN_ silenced Severus's floundering thoughts, leaving him in a wash of _death _and _life _and_ death_

_and PAIN_ – Potter's? Hers? His own?

_PAIN_ again silenced him. He was losing his hold. He'd been seen-

Then_ exultationpowerfear- _

The fear belonged to Severus. _I can't get out._

_Death life pain _flashed again

_Paindeathlaughter _

_Fear _now – Severus's. Potter's.

_pain- _he couldn't tell whose

_fear death_

_Voldemort_ SAW him - sending_ PAIN _again

_her father's eyes – _a child!

_A reaching hand _and _trapped in death _and _pain_

Now_ life _and the _reaching claw _and _dread_ but that belonged to Severus and

_Death_ was coming for him

But blackness came first.

- - - -

Severus dropped to his knees, his wand falling from limp fingers, the world crashing back around him as if someone had grabbed him by the hair and yanked him from a dark pool into which he'd begun to sink. He was disoriented. He remained on the floor as the walls took their time settling into a fixed position.

Potter lay in his bed where Poppy had stunned him, looking far better for it. Beside him, Ron Weasley had an arm around Hermione Granger; both looked appalled, and not at Potter.

Severus blinked and ran a shaking hand over his face. Poppy went to him and hooked an arm under one of his and across his back; his shirt was wet with blood, and getting cold.

"I told you you'd hurt yourself again," she said. Severus got the distinct impression that Poppy was trying to distract him.

Poppy helped him to sit on the bed next to Potter's; he muttered something too low for her to understand.

"What was that, Severus?" she asked.

"I am getting quite tired-" he coughed "-of humiliating myself in front of you, Poppy," he said. He coughed again and pain radiated through his chest. "Ow," he croaked. He must have landed quite hard.

Poppy smiled briefly at his remark and turned to the two still-conscious Gryffindors.

"I think you two will be fine," she said to Granger and Weasley. "Perhaps you should go back to Gryffindor Tower."

"But –" argued Weasley.

"Actually, Ron, I think she has a point," said Granger. She at least had the decency to allow Severus some semblance of privacy while Poppy tended to him.

"All right," grumbled Weasley as his friend steered him out of the hospital wing. The two left, leaving Poppy alone with her charges.

- - - -

As it turned out, Professor Snape had been right about the next morning's "interrogation." Not long after Harry and Professor Snape had finished eating breakfast in silence, Dumbledore had begun the questioning.

Harry was actually feeling all right, except for a slight headache. Sitting stiffly in the bed next to Harry, arms crossed in front of him, hands balled into fists, and fully clothed except for shoes, was Professor Snape, looking sour as usual.

If one were to come across Snape, it would take some stretch of the imagination to picture the abuse the man had gone through in the last few days. Of course, Harry knew he was far from healed; however, Snape was anything if not resilient. He had to hand it to Snape – the professor gave no sign of having been tortured, cursed, and stabbed in the back the night before.

Also present was Madam Pomfrey; she and Headmaster Dumbledore sat in chairs set between the two beds.

Harry and Snape had spent an extremely uncomfortable half hour describing their imprisonment to Dumbledore. Snape's answers had been growing increasingly terse and were bordering on outright nasty. Although Harry was glad to be filled in on all the details he had missed, the tension radiating from Snape was palpable. It was almost a relief when Dumbledore steered the conversation away from torture and toward Harry's little post-rescue "episode."

"Apparently Voldemort still managed to perform his ritual last night, despite your rescue," the old man said slowly.

"How astute," muttered Snape. "I thought screaming hallucinations were becoming a regular event in Potter's life."

Dumbledore shot Snape a mildly reproachful look, then turned to Harry. However, a bit of color returned to Snape's white knuckles as the topic was steered away from things that made Snape scream and onto things that made Potter scream instead.

"Do you remember anything specific from last night, Harry? Anything at all?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry reddened, then spoke. "It was all just… just a big jumble, sir. I-" he took a breath. "I saw V- um… You-know-who, and two Death Eaters and a woman in white. Someone died, but I don't know who… it was like all of my thoughts turned off and there were just emotions left."

Almost imperceptibly, Snape nodded.

Harry sighed. "It – It was what they were going to do to me… wasn't it?"

Neither Dumbledore not Pomfrey really wanted to answer that question, both being too tactful.

Snape wouldn't have recognized tact if it came up and bit him on his large nose. "Yes," he said bluntly. "It was exactly what they were going to do to you, to strengthen the Dark Lord's child."

"But I wasn't there."

"How observant of you."

"Severus…" warned Dumbledore.

Snape heaved an impatient sigh, then continued, turning his attention away from Harry and addressing Dumbledore.

"The Death Eaters helping in the ritual were Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy – and the ritual went almost exactly as planned."

"Almost?" asked Harry.

At this, Snape gave his first smile of the day, and it was a decidedly nasty smile.

"The original sacrifice having escaped, there was only one other person powerful enough to substitute."

Snape's ghastly smile remained in place; Harry got the distinct impression that he was dragging his answer out on purpose.

"Your wife," said Dumbledore flatly. There was no trace of a question in his voice.

"My wife," replied Snape. He didn't seem the least bit unhappy to be a widower again.

"Oh dear," muttered Madam Pomfrey. "So the child – _his_ child – survived?"

"Yes she did, Poppy," replied Snape flatly. Nobody seemed to have anything to say in reply. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but shut it without making a sound. What was he supposed to say? In the face of what Snape had just bluntly stated, all of their problems seemed to shrink to practically nothing in comparison. Torture? Hallucinations? Back-stabbing?

They just didn't seem as awful when faced with the fact that Voldemort had succeeded.

Silence stretched through the room as each of its inhabitants considered Snape's rather bad news. Harry studied the bedspread. Poppy intently examined her fingernails. Snape started to crack his knuckles.

At last, Dumbledore stood up.

"Come now," he said, conjuring up a smile. "The child is still young. No matter what her power, she still must be trained, and that will take time."

Snape snorted. "The next time I'm locked in a room with a sleeping Basilisk, I'll have to remember you, Albus, and tell myself that there's still _time_ before the beast wakes up and instantly kills me."

"Oh, Severus, you are such a pessimist," Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling once more. "Aren't you the _least_ bit happy that you're still alive?" He raised his eyebrows at his Potions professor.

Snape tried to glare at Dumbledore, but soon gave up. "Of course, Albus," he said in a softer voice. "Thank you. You saved both of our lives."

"That's the spirit!" replied Dumbledore, standing and setting his chair out of the way. "I think we've interrogated these two long enough, don't you, Madam Pomfrey?"

Pomfrey looked up at the old man, then stood and moved her own chair.

"Yes, I agree," she said. "I really ought to send a note to Mr. Whitby about those warts."

"Well then, I'll be leaving you two to recuperate," said the headmaster to Harry and Snape. He walked to the door, but turned at the threshold.

"All is not lost," he said. "We must not lose hope during times such as these."

As he walked out, Madam Pomfrey swooped down on Snape, who was just swinging his long legs over the edge of his bed.

"Ah, but all will be lost for you, Severus, if you try to get out of that bed!" she said sternly. The waved her wand threateningly until Snape was back in his previous position.

"I'm sure Mr. Potter will keep an eye on you," she said. "I trust that when I get back, you'll still be here."

With that, Pomfrey left the hospital wing, leaving Harry alone with Snape for the first time since they had been imprisoned. Harry had only just begun to feel uncomfortable, though, when Snape swung his legs back over the edge of his bed and stood up.

"Overprotective old hen," he muttered, picking up his wand from the bedside table and stashing it in his robes. He spent several moments fruitlessly searching for a pair of shoes before looking over at Harry.

"You're not going to _tell_ on me, now are you, Potter?" he asked. It took Harry a moment to realize that there was actually a slight smile in Snape's expression.

"Um, no sir," he replied. He hesitated, then asked, "How about you give Gryffindor some points for it?"

Snape stared at Harry for a moment, then, to Harry's surprise, gave a short laugh. He stooped in front of Harry's bed in order to look him in the eye.

"How very opportunistic, Potter. Almost a Slytherin thing to do. Five points _from_ Gryffindor – for attempting to bribe a professor."

Harry's jaw dropped open, and for a moment he couldn't take his eyes off of Snape's face. It was only after a moment that he saw that Snape had extended his hand in front of him. It trembled slightly with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse.

Gingerly, Harry took Snape's hand in his own and shook it. Snape's hand was warm again, not icy cold like it had been before. It was a testament to what they'd been through that Harry was truly glad that Snape was going to be all right.

Snape stepped backward, straightening. "Well, Mr. Potter, I sincerely hope never to be imprisoned with you again." he said.

Head held high, Snape swept out of the hospital wing, his sock feet making no sound as he disappeared.

- - - -

The Halloween feast that year was especially joyful occasion. As usual, it was the first large event the school had held since the first day of the term, but it was also the first celebration held in the Great Hall since the Dark Mark had been burned into the ceiling at the beginning of the month. Underneath the starry ceiling, the students of Hogwarts buzzed with conversation, happy for the moment to just be where they were, when they were.

At the faculty table, Albus Dumbledore stood and raised his hand for quiet.

"Could I have your attention, everyone" he called, bringing near silence to the Great Hall.

"I know you are all hungry and eager to continue your conversations," he began, "so I'll try to make this short. Before we begin tonight's feast, I would like to share a few words.

"This has been a tumultuous beginning to what promises to be an even more tumultuous year, both here at Hogwarts and in the rest of the wizarding world. As most of you know, earlier this month a student and faculty member were taken from us by Dark forces. Many in this room tonight presumed them dead; others, however, held out hope that we would find them again. Through their courage and resilience, and through the hard work and dedication of two of our Gryffindor prefects, this student and teacher were brought back to us. It's been two weeks since they returned, but please, won't you all welcome back Professor Snape and Harry Potter."

The hall broke into applause, the Gryffindors good-naturedly cheering their famous housemate, the Slytherins clapping for their somewhat embarrassed-looking head of house, and the rest of the hall happy to applaud both Harry and Snape.

As the applause died down, Dumbledore spoke again. "This year will be one to be recorded in history books. It has been seven years since Voldemort-" a murmur ran through the hall at the mention of the forbidden name "since _Voldemort_ began his second rise to power. It has been two since the new war began; the war has taken its toll on all of us. Many of us have lost friends and family members – no one is impervious to the war's influence.

"But this year will see a change for the better. This year will see the Dark Lord fall, his followers scattered, his victims' deaths avenged. This year, the Light will finally triumph over the Dark. Those of you in your final year of Hogwarts have grown up with a shadow over you; it will soon be time for that shadow to depart. To those of you just starting Hogwarts, may you never have to face that darkness yourselves."

Dumbledore cleared his throat in the sudden somber silence, then smiled. "All right, I think that's enough seriousness for one night – it's time to celebrate, after all! And what better way is there to celebrate the future than to stuff ourselves like Christmas turkeys? I've been talking long enough – let's eat before the food gets cold!"

- - - -

Saturday, the first of November, brought a curious sense of déjà vu to Harry Potter. After a month of postponement, the first game of Quidditch was ready to be played. In a somewhat deserted Great Hall, Ron Weasley was sitting at the Gryffindor table, wearing red and gold robes and flanked by his best friends. At the faculty table, Professor Vector was reading out of a book that looked large enough to break the large table in half; to her left was Severus Snape, staring into his coffee cup.

"Ron," said Hermione, glancing over at her friend.

"What," replied Ron monotonously.

"You need to eat your breakfast."

"For the gods' sake Hermione, I'm not hungry!" cried Ron, throwing his hands in the air. Harry looked over at him.

"Actually Ron, she might have a point. About the calories." Hermione smirked at Ron, a perfect "I-told-you-so" look spreading over her features. Ron rolled his eyes.

"I swear, you're both like little versions of Mum, trying to feed me," he said, exasperated. "Why don't you go practice flying or something?"

"I don't like to fly," replied Hermione matter-of-factly.

"Go read a book – how about that long one you had a while back?"

"That thing? I finished that _weeks_ ago, Ron!"

Ron pushed his plate away from himself and began to softly thump his head on the table.

"How'm I supposed to eat breakfast? Oh I just know that Quaffle's going to get past me, I just know it. We're going to lose the first game of the season!"

_Thump, thump, thump_, went Ron's head. He lifted it to thump it again, but found himself dragged out of his spot by his two friends.

"Come on, Ron," said Harry, smiling. "I'll go practice with you for a little while."

"And I'll watch," said Hermione with a laugh. "From the ground."

"Oh, all right," said Ron, putting his arms around his friends. Now smiling himself, Ron left the Great Hall with his two best friends and headed for the Quidditch pitch, leaving his breakfast on the table.

It was good for the three friends to be together again.

- - - -

The sound of cheering could be heard all the way from the Quidditch pitch to the lake. Normally, Severus Snape would have watched the Quidditch match in hopes of seeing Gryffindor lose and rubbing it in Minerva's and Albus's faces, but today, he found he had little interest in the game.

It was a fine day for Quidditch: clear and cool, the sun bright but not warm, the grass under Severus's feet cold and green-brown. Severus enjoyed the feeling of the cold wind on his face; out here was almost as far away as he could get from the castle these days.

After years as a spy, Severus Snape had finally, thoroughly blown his cover. Through his few conversations with Draco Malfoy, who never had been expelled, Severus had discovered that every Death Eater and moderately-informed sympathizer within a thousand miles of Hogwarts wanted him dead – hardly incentive to leave the protected school grounds.

October had been hard on him; he imagined he would wake up to a head of gray hairs any day now. He had had to let go of so much – his role as a spy, his pride… and his hatred.

Try as hard as he could, Severus Snape could no longer hate Harry Potter, son of the most arrogant Gryffindor bastard ever to walk the planet. Severus would never forgive James Potter, but somehow, he had come to a grudging acceptance of his son. After hating the boy for so long, Severus found his sudden neutrality to be strange, but not as awful as he would have imagined.

Severus supposed that getting along with Harry Potter wasn't the worst thing in the world; after all, he would most likely be working with him in the Order of the Phoenix this year. No matter what Albus said, Voldemort's heir was growing older with every passing day. Once the child came into her powers, she and her father would be the most terrible force in the history of magic. It sometimes seemed almost impossible to prepare for that day.

But Albus had a way with people. No matter what the situation, he could always find a way to instill hope in the people he talked to. He had even been known to get a genuine smile out of Severus once in a while.

Severus stepped as close to the lake as he dared, leaving a good distance between himself and the cold waters. The old man was right, after all. There _was_ still hope. After all, a great weight had been lifted from Severus's shoulders, despite the new burden of Voldemort's heir. Severus reached into his pocket, pulling out the plain wedding band that had weighed so heavily on his left hand. He looked down at it – it seemed so innocuous in his palm. It bore no signs of the pain it had caused, the humiliation, the despair.

That chapter of his life, at least, had finally come to a close. Weighing the ring in his hand one last time, Severus pulled his arm back and threw the gold band into the lake. The ring flew through the air in a high arc, sparkling in the sun for a brief moment before splashing into the water far from the shore. One of the mermaids would probably find it – good for her. The path of the ring's flight burned in Severus's eyes long after the object itself had sunk to the bottom of the lake.

_Things in nature follow rules, _he thought. _All things that rise must fall_, _and just as Voldemort rose from the dust, so will he one day become a part of it again._

Turning, Severus left the lake behind and began the walk back to the castle.

- - - THE END - - -

**A/N:** Well… that's it for now. I hope nobody is too mad that I didn't kill off all of the baddies at once – that would have been a bit unrealistic! Anyway, my initial goal with this story was to get Severus and Harry to accept each other… the rest of the story fell into place along the way. I can't believe I started this before OotP came out… Someday I will write a sequel to this story to completely tie it up, but it won't be my next story. (Right now I'm working on a – gasp! – real original story. I'm trying to get it done for my mom's birthday in February). Anyway, I have several ideas for new Snapefics (most set in the past, except for the sequel to this one). Once I finish the draft for the new one (tentatively titled "The Breaking of Innocence" – tentatively!) I will start to post chapters, but not till then (I like to go back and put in foreshadowing, which makes WIPs hard).

**THANK YOU **to every single person who has read and reviewed this story. I know there are authors on who can churn out 100,000 word epics no prob, but for me writing something that's almost novel-length was horribly intimidating. I have to say, though, that having reviewers and even people who put me on Author Alert and Favorites really helped me through the process of polishing and posting this fic. Without you all, I think this may have been my last fic… instead, I'm already working on a new draft. So to le manchot du destin, duj, Sarah, TEC, Suzuki-chan, Silverthreads, nana-hedwig, SiddaBJR, Snape Girl1, whisky lullaby, ShadowedHand, Katie, kip, and mystic dragonsfire (who reviewed in 2004), Terra4, Draccerigs, Dien Alcyone, Sevrin, Tia'RaHu, Lady of Arundel, Elanndriel, and kaypee (who reviewed the original version), and to any lurkers/new readers who review this afterwards, I really appreciate your feedback and you've made putting this fic up really fun. I hope you've all liked it too.

K. Cloak


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